Sometimes writing for me means stuff that people really don't want to read.
Got all weepy last night. Talked to Flar for the first time for a good long private talk, since the night Wolf said GOodbye. He told me he thought I was doing amazingly well.
Turnip doesn't read this, and I realized he didn't know. So I called and let him know, because that's kind of where we are with each other, make sure we know Big Life Events and stuff. He offered to go kick his butt for me, but I wouldn't want that, even if I thought he were serious.
What I want is to wake up and find out it was all just a terrible, horrible nightmare.
I don't know whether mornings or nights are worst.
Every morning, I wake up, realize it's all still true, cry for not understanding how there can still be love and it be over. How it doesn't make a difference whether I wanted it to be over, it just it, and I'm supposed to figure out some way to carry on and even supposed to figure out some way to be happy.
I remember pain. There was a lot of pain over the last year. So why isn't that enough for me to understanding ending it?
Nights are still awful. I can't stop thinking. I stay online late, I read, I talk on the phone, but the pain is right out there, I can't put it out of my mind.
How can he say I'm doing so well, when I called up Knight in the middle of the night on Saturday, incoherent, just hurting and needing support? How can Knight say I was in control?
I hate this.
I hate caring.
I can't even be mad, dammit.
Too many questions. Too wrapped up in grieving to accept what I pray for every night and every morning.
Too important to have peace about?