(no subject)
Thought I was doing better come Saturday, because I had a pretty good time at the beach and at Pete's party. But Sunday was lonely. I felt like I was in a haze all day, just going through the motions, but not really feeling much of anything. I've been tired a lot. And I'm so sad that my heart actually hurts. It's been a long time since I've felt this way. I don't really like it, but it somehow makes me feel alive. In a really shitty way. But at least I'm fuckin alive.
Whatever.
I am depressed. I have lots of people who care about me, but I feel lonely. I miss Jason terribly. I keep going back and forth between, "I wish I had one more day" to "this was just meant to be" and "this was mostly my fault" to "I have absolutely nothing to do with this." I can't say that I had nothing to do with this. That cannot possibly be true. But I didn't have everything to do with it, either. So I cannot beat myself up over this. It was not my problem to solve, and I did everything in my power to solve it, anyway. There was nothing I could have done.
I almost talked to him that Saturday. I mere two days before he died. What would I have said? I know that the conversation wouldn't have gone very well, but I could have at least told him that I was thinking about him and missing him. Not that that would have made a whole lot of difference, but I just wish I could have been sure that he knew that I still loved him.
I never stopped loving him. I haven't still. I am in love with a dead person. This cannot be healthy.
I decided to read over the letters I had given to him--the ones he had out on the table when his body was found. They were full of hope and love. They were encouraging. I am so grateful that he read these. I can only pray that as he drifted off he was thinking of only the fondest memories of our time together.
I never once thought that we'd be over forever. I thought that he just needed a year or two to get back on his feet. I thought that we would find each other again.
I can't be sorry. I cannot have regrets. I have some wonderful memories that I'll hold onto.
There better be a Heaven.
Whatever.
I am depressed. I have lots of people who care about me, but I feel lonely. I miss Jason terribly. I keep going back and forth between, "I wish I had one more day" to "this was just meant to be" and "this was mostly my fault" to "I have absolutely nothing to do with this." I can't say that I had nothing to do with this. That cannot possibly be true. But I didn't have everything to do with it, either. So I cannot beat myself up over this. It was not my problem to solve, and I did everything in my power to solve it, anyway. There was nothing I could have done.
I almost talked to him that Saturday. I mere two days before he died. What would I have said? I know that the conversation wouldn't have gone very well, but I could have at least told him that I was thinking about him and missing him. Not that that would have made a whole lot of difference, but I just wish I could have been sure that he knew that I still loved him.
I never stopped loving him. I haven't still. I am in love with a dead person. This cannot be healthy.
I decided to read over the letters I had given to him--the ones he had out on the table when his body was found. They were full of hope and love. They were encouraging. I am so grateful that he read these. I can only pray that as he drifted off he was thinking of only the fondest memories of our time together.
I never once thought that we'd be over forever. I thought that he just needed a year or two to get back on his feet. I thought that we would find each other again.
I can't be sorry. I cannot have regrets. I have some wonderful memories that I'll hold onto.
There better be a Heaven.