I’m crying a lot today. I think it has a lot to do with me numbing myself out lately. I know drinking will solve nothing, but when I have a few drinks at night it numbs me out. I’m not sure why. I guess that’s why they say you shouldn’t use it to medicate yourself. You can get to used to it. I’m not really, but then, I am. But it doesn’t matter. It’s all still there – my personal darkness – I get to take it with me wherever I go for the rest of my life. Here lies Sheri. She fell in love once and Death crushed her with his boney finger. When I was younger I always wanted to get a tattoo of the Grim Reaper on my shoulder – like a sailor will get a MOM tattoo. I wanted to do it because I was terrified of dying, so naturally I obsessed about it. The tattoo was meant to be my form of courage against the ultimatum of Death. But I never got the tattoo. I grew up I guess. Or I got over it. I’m not on good terms with Death now. He’s a douche for taking Dave.
The numbness isn’t so bad. I prefer it to the moments of clarity at times – which are ruthless. Sometimes when I look at photos of Dave I see him existing as plain as day – in real life – a real person. Those moments shatter me. Usually I just feel like it’s all a dream, that this is somebody else’s life. And to be fair – I guess it is someone else’s life. I guess all along I’ve been trying to understand who this new person is. She’s not very happy. She has a constant tightness in her chest. Her sadness is over-powering and her grief is hardly bearable. I feel horrible for her at times, and then when I realize it’s me I’m feeling horrible for, the clarity hits and my throat closes. The numbness isn’t so bad. It helps time pass. It helps me put my feet in front of me, and it helps me get out of bed. I’m getting used to taking my piece of darkness with me.
I wear a pair of Dave’s boxer shorts to bed. I found them under my covers the day I got home from New Zealand. I couldn’t remember if I stashed them there. I washed them and started wearing them to bed. I was nervous telling Dave about it. I thought he would think I was weird. But he didn’t. I think he was kind of amused and honoured by it. He called me a big cheese-ball, but I know he loved that side of me. I smell my Dave pillow each day. I don’t do it too often as it sends my mind spiraling. What I would give to just hold him again. But all I have is my smelly T-shirt on one of his old pillows. It’s unwashed, straight from San Diego, smelling like Dave’s sweat and deodorant. I sleep beside it but I ignore it a lot when I’m in bed. I know it’s not healthy, but I don’t care. I’m coping any way I can. I’ll use any method that puts any part of this pain at ease, even if that includes occasionally holding his ashes to my chest and thinking about him. Okay, I talk to him. It should be strange that I have human remains in my trailer with me, but I’m not really being too critical lately of what is strange. I mean, sometimes it’s as though my darkness has become a kind of pet. I’m wondering if I should name it. I have also learned that I don’t really care what people think of me right now. I’ll say what I say and if they judge me – so be it. I can’t be bothered to filter much. I have no idea who is speaking half the time now anyway. And I’m too tired to cater to it. I still don’t sleep well.
As I cry today I notice that I am often not thinking about anything in particular. It’s just an instinctual pain that flows through me and erupts into tears and facial spasms. It’s as though my body knows but my brain can’t keep up. I think my brain is just exhausted. It’s more likely though that I have been introduced to a type of pain some people will never have to endure and I am frazzled with constantly having to put it somewhere or do something with it. That pain caused by the separation of two souls, the tearing of etheric connection cords – fuck is it brutal. While this all may appear to be spiritual, I am more than ever aware of how the physical realm is connected to our essences of life. I was madly in love with Dave. I was genuinely happy with life for the first time in my life. But now I cry and I hurt and I am still so confused by Dave’s death. Something very important is missing from my life and I experience that loss every single day. I try to tell myself I can survive and move on, that I knew how to live before Dave, but that’s the thing. I had little joy in life before we met and got attached. This pain can’t take any of that love or joy away. It can distract me, incapacitate me and change me, but it can’t take it away. I really don’t value what Death has given me by taking Dave away. My own personal darkness. My pet. Death and I are not on good terms. I just wish he would go away.