I really don't know why I'm here. Guess I was tired of bogging down my other online journal with depressing entries surrounded by people that will never begin to understand how I feel inside. That journal has always been to document my children. In 30 years, if they'd by chance somehow read it, I'd rather them skip the utterly depressing part of life that I try so hard to shelter them from.
I'm sad again tonight. Sitting here, chain smoking, trying to figure out how to compose an email. What do I say? I said I'd email. I need to. I promised. Yet, I don't know what to say at this point in the night. The thought brings me to tears. I know what I want to say. But this isn't about me. This is about her. She doesn't want to hear me ramble on for hours about the guilt I feel inside for the things I've done in the past. She doesn't want to hear how sorry I am that I wished her son dead & now he is. She doesn't want to hear about horribly depressed I am over this. How heartbroken I am. She's the one who lost a son. She's the one who is going thru more pain then I ever want to imagine.
I "only" lost an exhusband as everyone wants to put it. Nobody can begin to understand how it feels. It doesn't feel like "only" to me. It feels like I just lost a huge piece of myself. It feels like every scar on my heart from him has been tore open. I feel like I'm back at square one, when the seperation overwhelmed me, when my heartached so bad I didn't know how I could possibly keep breathing. It hurts horribly bad. I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone.
And it hurts that really, nobody, can ever understand. This is the man I planned to spend the rest of my life with, someone I loved deeply, cared for so much. Even though we divorced, even though his diagnosis of bipolar made it impossible to stick it out because he wouldn't take meds, even though at one point in life I said I hated him. That wasn't true. I hated the person he became. I hated the person bipolar made him. I hated how he was. But never have I stopped loving the man I first met, the man who adored my children, the man who promised me the world once upon a time.
I feel like there's so many things left unsaid. I wish I would have told him one last time that I loved the him that was buried deep inside, that i cared deeply, that he would always have a place in my heart.
And now it's too late. Too late for the what ifs.
It's killing me inside & not a person in this world gets it.
I keep procrastinating the therapy appointment. My old therapist emailed Saturday after hearing the news & knowing I'd be screwed up. She says this is normal. She recommended a couple people here & said to call. To call before I was psychotic, to call before I was the person I became a year after he moved out & it had all built up. Maybe next week I'll call. But right now I'm just not ready.
Time for that email. If I only knew the right thing to say.