Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Two Years?

Has it really been two years since Jim killed himself? Somehow, it doesn't seem that long...more like maybe three or four months. Which is much better than last week, and I am unanimous in that.

I am being flip, I know...but I am just so damn tired of being sad. Tired of having debilitating depression hit me without warning. Tired of tears welling up with every sentimental song I hear. Tired of pain and insecurity. Tired of doubting my own feelings, my own judgment.

I have never got past the guilt. Daily, I wonder what I could have and should have done, or been, or become. I'm still a freaking mess, truth be told. And I'm tired of that, too!

I've been walking on eggshells for a very long time. I never know, you see. It hits like those headaches you get--the ones that feel as if somebody has hit you upside the head with a hammer. I become a hermit for weeks at a time--emerging only to work or go to the store. Because I never know. Will it be somebody he knew from Cedar Valley? One of his students? A scent? A sound? A snore?

Still. I'm alive, and I'm still capable of being happy (at least, once in a while). I guess I'm getting better.

I guess.


  1. You are better, and stronger. Jim would be proud of you. That dumbass.

  2. What should I have done? What could I have done? Those are the things that exacerbate the depression. I know. I have been there. Ironically, having said that, I have no words of wisdom for you, I'm sorry. Just be patient with your emotions. It takes time. That is the only thing I have learned. Peace to you.