All everyone has told me is that I will figure it all out in time. So time goes by and here I still am – wondering when will that time be. I move. I work. I eat. I dream. I write. But it’s all still the same. The world is moving and yet I’m standing still. Dave was once my boyfriend – and he died – and I can’t get over it. I’m waiting on time. I miss my old life.
There are steps I try to take. There are many things I’m trying to figure out. And half the time I feel as though I’m simply convincing myself that I’m doing everything I can possibly do to recover from the cataclysm. But I’m beginning to think that it doesn’t really matter what steps I take – time has been my only resolve so far. The only recovery I experience is when I ignore it, which doesn’t seem conducive to a real recovery. The only time I truly laugh and enjoy myself is when I pretend it doesn’t bother me, or when I force myself to think about anything else. I tell myself that there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it – that it makes sense to move on – I can’t change the past. It’s a sterile form of logic. It makes me believe there must be something wrong with me to have such thoughts.
Death is weird. The past is confounding. And then I catch myself wondering a lot what would be – how it all would be if Dave was still here. And then I cry and I find myself questioning the cruelty of life and the validity of absence. Is Dave really gone? And why? Does this existence really matter? But then I recall that I am not even in control of the thoughts sailing through my mind most of the time. It hurts so much still, and while it’s easier to get through the day by changing my course of thought, or ignoring the tearing of my heart, it comes back again and again – and I still feel like a stranger in my own head. Why did I have to meet Dave?
How do I go on? How do I acknowledge him – and do I continue to do so? How do people move on in healthy ways, or in any way? Someone said the day will come when I won’t think about it for the whole day. Will that day mean I have begun to move on? Or will it mean I am heartless and horrible? I’m sure so many people are sick of my inability to progress. Yet I think that four months really isn’t quite as long as four years, but even four years doesn’t seem that long. I realize many people get handed the shit-card of life, but I can’t accept – comprehend – that my shit-card was the removal of the man I had fallen so hopelessly in love with. How does one have faith in life and accept all the proverbs, explanations and lessons of this existence when the one thing we all truly hope for – love – is so ruthlessly taken away? Where does a person go from here?
Where do I go from here? How do I let my heart feel ever again?