What is left behind

The last few days have been a real struggle for me. I wake up, and immediately feel sad because I’m still here.

I go through the motions of daily life. Sometimes it feels surreal. Some days I feel like I’m in a matrix and I just wish I could find a glitch that my son could somehow come back through, or that I could slip out from.

The weather has been wreaking havoc on this beautiful little paradise island, and it has been doing it since Dec: rare is the day that we see sunshine. Rare is the day that it is actually warm. The two week forecast shows nothing but rain. It’s bullshit. And it effects me more than it ever did before. I hate this place.

My house is a mess; I can’t find the motivation to plant anything in my gardens. I have haphazardly thrown in a flower or two but I don’t take the time to or have the pride to stand back and think how pretty it looks. The weeds will just end up choking them out anyway. I really just don’t care. I tried to clean the house the other day but it really has gotten away from me and I just don’t know where to even start. My ADHD doesn’t allow me a start point and a finish point: instead I start one thing and then i see something else that needs doing, which leads me to see something else…. nothing gets done. My partner is struggling with his own problems and if I try to bring up needing help with the everyday chores, it just causes a fight.

This grief is killing me. Its eating me alive. I either cant sleep, or i sleep so deeply i cant wake up. My body is in a state of constant chronic pain so I’m living on doses of advil and/ or tylenol daily. Pills to sleep. Pills to wake up. Amphetamines for ADHD to function at my job. Blood pressure pills so my heart doesn’t explode. Or implode. Or both. It’s already broken so I don’t know how it keeps beating anyway. Pills pills and more pills. I’m sick of all of them.

” I don’t want to do this anymore. ” Those were some of the last words Sam spoke to me that final night. And they haunt me. And they scare me because I find myself thinking those same words almost daily. Actually, they don’t scare me at all to be honest and that is what scares me about them. I’m exhausted. I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling sad. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of trying to act ok around others so that I don’t make them uncomfortable. I was told by a loved one that I only identify with my grief now: as if I somehow should be able to function normally. How? How do I do that? There is nothing normal about losing your child. Its not supposed to happen. I didn’t lose an arm or a leg; or a cousin or a friend; or a cat or a dog. I lost my child. 1/4 of my heart is gone. What is left of it is shattered. I’ve not had the luxury of having family around to support me through this. I feel like an outsider: an outcast. I see a psychologist regularly but after my session yesterday, I felt like just going home and dying. And it’s nothing she said to set me off… it’s my own mind. I’m in a battle against my own mind now.

I have my dog Abe : my sweet boy. He is my grounding rock that holds me down when i feel like I’m going to float away. And Sam’s dog Buddy, who at almost 20 probably will not be here much longer. Some days I look at both of them and i feel trapped by them. And I hate myself for thinking that. No one will take either of them if I’m not around. Abe was sick last week and i was worried about him. I still am. My son asked if he was OK, so at least he knows that Abe is very important to me. But no one else cares about my dog.

I don’t know how many times in the past 9 and a half months I have said ” I can’t do this”. But some how, I’m still here. Doing this. My body is in auto drive. My head is not in the game.

I miss you Sam. Why did you take you away from us? From me? Did you mean to? Or was it just an impulse that went too far and you couldn’t stop the outcome. Why couldn’t my words have saved you that night? Why didn’t you care enough about your family and how this would destroy us? I miss you sweet boy. I miss you so much.

Suicide is brutal.