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Heavy; that’s how my heart feels. I sleep, and it’s heavy. I rise, and it’s heavy. It’s as if I’m an animal being backed into a corner without any possible option of escape. There’s no more time for praying; no more time for bartering. And this constant guilt that lives inside of me telling me that I could have done more; if only I’d pushed a little harder for my way, or was more willing to speak over the phone.

How did everything disappear so quickly? I keep wondering how we got to this exact point, and I can’t seem to find an answer that makes me happy. In fact, I can’t seem to think about anything that makes me happy. I don’t want to think about what’s going on, because every time I do, I can’t help but cry and think about her passing, and that somehow seems so wrong. So I opt to not think at all. I’ve begun filling my time with a constant stream of piano notes, or reading books while listening to the sounds of classical music; anything to drown out any chance of my thoughts getting too far deep. I can feel myself drifting, and continuously being pushed beneath wave after wave of sorrow. The only time I have to breathe is when I don’t think at all; when I just sit and stare – mindless. My eyes are heavy from the constant tears, and I’m worn down, but I feel the worse is still yet to come.

I kept going back and forth on whether or not I wanted a friend to confide in or not, but I’ve decided that I don’t. Everything most people say just end up making me angry, and I regret telling them anything after a while. Nobody seems to get it. Nobody seems to get as emotional over these things as I do. Possibly because my mind is a loop of continual deep thought, and I don’t think anybody processes how much of a toll death takes as I do. I wish I didn’t, but I do. And it’s not just that I process my own pain, I process everybody’s pain. I process how everybody must be feeling, and how frightened people are, how lost in despair  people may be. I process how she might be doing. What’s going on in her mind that she can’t share with anybody else; the thoughts she can’t seem to verbalize, the fears that she may be fighting alone. The accumulation of it all is ripping my heart into shreds, but I can’t seem to stop once I begin to think, and each thought is a huge wave that crashes over me. Occasionally I have to stop and remind myself that I need to take a deep breath, just to relieve some of the pressure on my heart. It doesn’t last longer than the inhale or the release of the air, but it’s something.

It’s funny how I can’t stop caring about this, but everything else I couldn’t care less. I just can’t seem to find any energy. I can’t even summon up the energy to make my voice sound like anything but a monotone. And I hear it, but I can’t make myself change it. It’s as if suddenly so much effort has to be exerted just to feign normalcy. And if my voice sounds flat, my expression does nothing to hide any last clue of me not being okay. I am suddenly aware of every muscle it takes to smile; every muscle it takes to make my eyes look interested. I’m supposed to be strong, and it sounds like I’m not trying at all, but it takes all my energy just to not cry as soon as I wake up.

Sleep is a whole new subject in itself. I know I just need one good night’s sleep, but I can’t seem to make myself go to bed. The longer I have to sleep, the longer I have to dream. And the first day we got word of what was occurring, that same night I shot up straight in my bed, jarred from a dream that seemed all too real. I had a sudden fear that she had passed, and had to remind myself that someone would have come to tell me if it’d happened. I’m now terrified of having another dream like that. Maybe a dream isn’t the right word… perhaps it could be better described as I suddenly had a feeling/fake memory that woke me up. I didn’t dream up a scene or anything. I had this feeling come upon me with all the realization in the world of where I  was. It was just as if suddenly I felt a panic as if I suddenly realized that she was gone. I don’t know how much better I can explain it, so I’m going to end the attempt here.

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I don’t know who will read this, or if it’ll even help anyone or what this post will accomplish at all. All I know is that it feels momentarily better to get everything down, and not hold back. This may not be in poem form, but these are my words expressing my emotions, and that’s enough for me.
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I’m feeling more cynical than normal. Perhaps it’s as a result of not having any hope left. I see no light to the end of this tunnel. Nothing I’m doing seems to have any meaning. I wonder when I’ll finally snap out of this state. To be honest, I almost don’t want to. I know that when I finally do, it means I’m moving on, and moving on means forgetting things and realizing that I have to leave her behind. That’s not something I want to do.

It’s interesting how time is like that; how it is like a double edged sword. On one hand, it helps heal wounds, but at the same time, in order to do that, it makes your memories become distant, and sometimes they even become lost in the shuffle as you begin to fall into a routine, or pick up new habits, or just continue living. The thing is, the things you forgot, sometimes you have no control over. That’s what’s scary. I don’t want to forget a thing; a single moment more. I know with age and time I have forgotten some things, or the memories have become fuzzy from lack of use, so the ones that I have left, I never want to forget. There will not be any new happy or beautiful memories of us, so what I have now, is what I have. It’s not like a factory. I can’t just create more as it pleases me. There will always be that one integral person missing.

I am a Christian by birth, but have always categorized myself more as spiritual than religious. In this way, I will never fully accept that there is not a heaven. However, there is that characteristic of my mind where I send everything on a continuous loop through my mind until I’ve exhausted out every thought that could result from it, and even then I still find myself loop it. So it only makes sense that it gets on my nerves when people allude to her going to a better place. It’s beautiful if she is, but there’s always that one voice in me that gets angry when people say it. It gets angry because what if she’s not. What if this is it? Then isn’t that cruel of people basically mentally trying to hurry her up through life? It’s cruel for people to want her to stay here when she’s in pain if there’s a better place waiting, but it’s equally cruel for people to hurry her up if there isn’t. I can’t decide which side of the fence I’m on. All I know is that I want her to stay with us as long as possible, just so I know that she exists. It comforts me to know that if I were to see her now that there’d be a rise and fall in her chest; that somewhere deep within her brain she’s thinking about something. It comforts me to know that she still has opinions; that she’s still an entity in the world.

So this is where I stop. If I don’t now, I don’t think I ever will. I don’t believe there were any big revelations in here – just thoughts and musings on which one day I might look back on for one reason or another. I’m not sure. All I know is that I’ve never felt more helpless and less wise as I do now.