The agony of sadness

I feel sad and restless today. I'm doing my best not to hate on myself for it or dwell on it at all, but rather to just accept it... especially in light of recent circumstances. I have had a very hard time being any kind of still, preferring to lose my thoughts in a whirlwind of action, mindless internet surfing, or the presence of friends. Today is my first day being really alone and not busy since I got Tuesday's news of the double loss. It's hard. I've got a book I'm reading, though, all curled up in bed...

I got some stuff done this morning while C slept, so I don't feel guilty about spending most or all of the rest of the day in bed, especially since I'm running a decent fever today. Kind of painful and achy, but not too bad until I move. It barely hurts to breathe right now, so that's an improvement, and I can lay down with only low levels of pain today. I'm grateful for that. It sucks when it hurts to sit, hurts to move, and hurts the most to lay down. I'm trying to wean myself off of painkillers, at least for a while, but it's not going too well. I can make it through a good portion of the day, but by late afternoon or evening I can't stand it anymore.

I took a walk last night, and C went with me. I'm trying to be balanced in my diet and to get some exercise... you know, to do this whole chronic illness and pain thing "right" so that no one can accuse me of not trying and being sick of my own doing.

I don't like the way I feel. I don't like being homesick for ID and the S's house... because most of the memories that spill through my stream of consciousness have D in them, and it's just agony. I really miss Juneaux, honestly. C and I went to the pet store to get a rat to feed our snake, and there were 6 puppies loose in the store that I got to play with. I tell you, my pain ceased to exist while I was playing with those puppies, and it was so nice to have a critter to snuggle and play with again. I died a little inside when we had to leave... There was one that I really wanted that C also liked, a German Shepherd/Husky/something else mix. She was only $100, and had all her shots and whatnot already, but... we can't afford to buy her right now. With the multiple whammy of wedding followed by buying a house followed by setting up a household (soon to be followed by adding a wife to phone plan, car insurance, and health insurance, which means added bills), C is watching every penny. A plea to readers-- how's about an anonymous donation for the Keep Cassandra Sane and Emotionally Healthy By Buying Her A Puppy Fund?

I'm fractured, disjointed, disoriented... lapsing into fits of hysterical weeping and primal keening of anguish... I'm all out of sorts. I find myself in the throes of the agony of sadness... and I don't see the way out today. I'm just sad. Sad and alone in my grief. No one here knew or loved D, and I am the only one who mourns his passing. You would think that all of the gardens would stop growing in protest, but... things still grow. People still make plans. The children next door still squeal and yell as they chase one another in innocent ignorance. I sit in my quiet house, watching the world spin by through the wide living room window, and I just feel numb. Fractured. Disjointed. Shattered. Yet somehow expected to go on as if life were still the same... as if one of the best people I knew hadn't fallen silent forever.

I'm just grateful that I'm not up there, as homesick as I am. I couldn't stand to be surrounded by mementos of his life. My mind couldn't bear the strain of muffling the screams of a devastated heart.

But on the other hand... I wish I were with the ones who knew him the best... so we could cling to one another as we collapse in tears... with that silent knowing that the other person understands exactly the loss that is hollowing out my insides.


It's like when Larry died... but so, so, so much worse.

But at least I got to say goodbye.

Oh god... why do we have to say goodbye?

4 thoughts:

  • Jolene | June 2, 2013 at 9:53 PM

    :'( Even though we are miles apart, I can feel the anger, pain, and tears right through this post as though your head were on my shoulder. We can still try to be there for each other in this virtual world we call the Internet... although I know it's not the same. I hope we can get a little bit of that "companion crying" when you're at the memorial in June. I love you.

  • Optimistic Existentialist | June 3, 2013 at 5:06 AM

    I always admire and respect your openness on here...I find it very inspiring my friend. I just thought you should know that.

  • Cassandra | June 3, 2013 at 8:59 AM

    Yeah, it's not the same... and don't bother hoping that we'll share tears. It's a foregone conclusion in my mind. And although it is a horrible, horrible reason, I am looking forward to seeing you guys.

  • Cassandra | June 3, 2013 at 8:59 AM

    Thank you. I really appreciate that.

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