My friend asked me recently if I was ever going to write something not so sad someday?
I worry about that. What all of you must think, that I live in only darkness…
I have been having breakfast with a friend every single Saturday morning since, more or less, the beginning of this. Starting from when I could physically leave my house, or drive my car. Shock is a funny thing. Grief? Well grief just takes everything. Gives it back, takes it again. She mentioned to me how odd it is for her, seeing me sitting across the table, smiling and talking about my week and the drama of office politics. All very normal. And then she reads my stories here and therein lies the truth. Behind the mask.
I don’t know if this is the truth. Everything is so convoluted. How can I know my truth when I don’t know this new version of me. Who or what I am now.
I am told that I am a gift. A pillar of strength. That I carry a strong message. If you only understood the amount of willful effort and deliberate control it takes every day not to slip into the darkness that calls to me. How brutal. How exhausted I am. How much concentrated energy it takes when my mind starts a flashback and I have squeeze my eyes shut shake my head and force the neurons and neurotransmitters and whatever function in my brain that causes this to stop. Just fucking stop so I don’t have to see what he must look like now, rotting in a box in the ground.
Will I ever write something not so sad someday? I don’t know. But then the same voice inside me, the one that is the survivor, the strong one who is pulling herself up from the ashes and carrying the guilt of a mother who has lost her only child, that voice says yes. Yes, I think I might someday be less sad, somehow. And will that be ok with you? Will that be ok with me?
If I can start to talk about my son without crying, is that ok with you? Is that ok with me?
I believe it is ok with him. That I do believe. And on some level I have to believe that, have faith in that and hope that every other moment won’t always be like this for me. This brutal life. My living nightmare.
But for now, hidden under the surface is the truth.
That I am hollow inside.