Library Abuse

I spent three hours at the library this evening reading my psychology book and searching for psychology journal articles to write papers on in preparation for my final class. Neither of these were valid reasons for my trip to the bookshelves. Running and suppressing to the best of my abilities and staying as far away from my apartment as possible while staying as far outside of my own head as possible seemed like my best strategy. My escape attempt was not successful. I cried openly on my walk home from the train station.

I feel isolated. There is nobody for me to talk to, anymore. Nobody wants to hear it. I don’t even want to say it, anymore. I want it to not have happened. I am tired of dealing with the crushing pain. Anxiety made me dizzy this evening en route to the library. I don’t want to be alone, anymore. I don’t want to be without Chris, anymore. But I can only solve one of those problems.

Tonight, when I think about my future, all I can see is me crying every single day for the rest of my life, whether I meet and fall in love with someone else, or not.

And I feel tremendous guilt lately and I think it’s because I have feelings for someone. And I’m terrified that he won’t be able to handle my grief if and when it rears its head throughout the remainder of my life. And I think I want to have children and get off of this fucking corporate carnival ride I have been on for way too long.

Why did I lose?

I am still so pained by everything Chris had to to go through. I think there’s more wrong with me than just grief. I still feel traumatized. I still can’t breathe when I remember Chris’ final days and the craziness of the fog and my eyes still snap open at night when images of his hospital stays invade my thoughts. I have asked Clay if he thinks I am showing any signs of PTSD but he thinks not. He's the professional.

And I am so angry all of the time. I’m angry with my entire family, my life, my phone, my face and my brain, and the grief counselor, who ignored my last phonecall, which was only my second time calling her. Ignored. And I’m angry that I have grown dependent on Clay and that I wish I could tell my psychology professor all about Chris and what happened and how I feel. Nobody screams “Save me!” like me.

I’m going to a party at Carol’s tomorrow night and I don’t want to go. I feel like I am going to be there with my sad soul, wearing a mask of happiness and fabricated holiday cheer. I want to stay home and cry. I’m not going to, though. And I’m not going to ruin anybody’s holiday, especially mine.

I have to pull myself together. I’m ashamed of myself this way.

I will. PMS has a way with multiplying the effects of grief.

Okay, I’m putting a stop to this right now.

(((smile, smile, smile)))
There, I feel better, already.
It's all about choices.

Good night.