The pain is always there.
But some times, I am distracted. I'm happy, for a time. Then it all comes crashing back.
Painful revelation of the night? Movies, one of the most powerful musics to my soul? When the ending credits roll, I see phantoms of my siblings out of the corners of my eyes. I see the shine of their eyes, their teeth when they smile. I feel the impulse to turn so we can connect, share the silver screen feelings.
Then I remember.
Jim and Scoob picked the lies. Picked inheritance. And I didn't. And so we can't be together. The pain of their loss is still so fresh. It's like...it almost feels like that's all there ever was. That my life came from it, from the pain of not-love.
Taking time to grieve just...it goes on and on. I am afraid that it will never be over. I will just grieve and grieve and grieve. It's true, after a fashion. I know it is. The past can't be undone, can't be changed. What happened, any hurt that happened, will always have happened to me.
People say that loss and pain don't end, that you carry them all your days, that time will at least make them older, less bright. It still blows my mind when I think of my recent companion - the spirit of suicide. How on earth did I come back? Why, even when the darkness was almost total, why did I want to come back? Why should I want to choose pain everlasting? Even if there will be moments of love and joy? I don't know. I don't know why I chose. Why I'm here. Why I planted my feet on this side of life.
I feel the compulsion to crawl into bed and never emerge. To sip whiskey until nothing matters. It seems insane that I get up, take meds, go to work, come home, feed the rabbits, take meds, go to sleep, and do it all over again. Going to group, and to therapy, once a week each, approximately.
And the agony just goes on and on.