First Entry…

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.


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For all my new friends and any one else that would like to take a few seconds and read one of my intros to a chapter on a book I am working on, so please enjoy and if you have any comments or suggestions let me know….that said…here it is 



I want to be whole again:

When I die I want to feel like I am whole, a single person. Not some collection of events, or series of successes or failures. I guess what I am trying to say is that I want to have an identity that I know so well and that I am comfortable with that people who know me will say, “yea that’s Scott alright” . More importantly, an identity that I don’t question. Or that others don’t question, and second guess. HIV has made this hard. There has been many times in my life that I thought I knew who I was. And in truth I know myself pretty well. But there is something about having the dreaded AIDS that makes you question parts of your self that you thought you knew so well . Parts of yourself that until HIV has had an impact on your life that you took for granted maybe. And if you are reading this and wonder how can you take yourself granted, well it is easier than you may think. Life altering events will tend to bring out bits and pieces of you that you didn’t know where there, like courage and sacrifice maybe. And that is all well and good. But they can also shine a light on your fears and doubts and magnify them in such a way that can shatter your confidence in an instance. Give you pause as to the basic tenet of “Who am I?” As a person I used to think of myself in terms of just plain old me. I often wonder what people think of me because I have HIV. This is not just me, a lot of people with HIV and AIDS will wonder what people think of them. Although I have not changed, the perception of me to my friends and family and community has. In the best case scenario I am Scott with AIDS, unfortunate to have this disease but it is just a disease. That is indeed the best case scenario, and also a bit of a stretch. People whisper, jump to conclusions, think that you are someone else completely different because now I am one of them, an AIDS patient, “And everyone knows how they are” right. If you don’t think people think that , think again, they do! For heavens sake even I did. It’s whether or not I can let that go. Whether or not I let it tear me apart into pieces. It has a bit, HIV has fragmented my being. I want it back, my identity, my wholeness. Just one Scott. One that no matter what happens when I wake up each day, the core of me is there and unchanged.


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