Sludge

Sludge

The holidays, the holidays. Cheer and goodwill and sadness and dread all around. I haven’t been looking forward to this week. The first Thanksgiving without dad. I don’t know why it is such a big deal. Every day is a day without him. Why do these couple days make a difference? I don’t know, but it’s left me feeling especially empty. Even though there is love and joy from my babies and my family, it just doesn’t seem to be enough to fill the hole.
The days are short, the air is cold, and the sky is black and dry. Light seems so elusive. My friend killed himself the other day. One minute he’s here, the next he’s not. I think the holidays are like that for everyone. Filled with joy or extreme emptiness. Id talked to him plenty before about being sad, being down, being in pain, him saying that sometimes life just doesn’t seem like living. There was nothing to look forward to anymore, nothing to hope for. Right before he did it, he put it on Facebook for God’s sake… Goodbye world, it’s too hard. And there it was in black and white. The last words. The end of a life on social media. And all the well-meaning Facebook friends asking if he was okay and what can we do to help, but it was too late. He was already dead. Too little, too late, not enough. As a friend, I don’t know how you recognize when the ruminations of ordinary hopelessness become the ones big enough to really push you over the edge. Even if someone could tell, I’m not even sure I’d know how to respond. No, don’t do it, please. But at that point, I’m sure pleas to cease are futile and the mind is already made up. And when you are the one who is thinking about ending your life, how exactly would you reach out. Hey, I’m thinking about ending it all? I doubt anyone would even care and like I said even if they did I doubt they know how to respond.
So he’s dead. It’s weird to think someone I’ve spent so much time with, someone so filled with life is all of a sudden gone. Dad had this gradual, although sometimes rapid decline. A slow, progressive negative trajectory filled with pain and knowing things were getting worse. For some, death is a relief, for loved ones and themselves from the pain, the pain. But I suppose mental pain is just as real. I’m going to a viewing tomorrow night. It’s back at the same funeral home we had dad’s viewing at. I’ve only been there once since his viewing. It wasn’t very pretty. Another friend who had lost her dad. And lots of tears in the parking lot. Maybe this time will be better. As good as a viewing a dead body can go.
Ive been trying to do what I can to be happy. Happy is a relative term. It’s not really working yet. I’m doing things…exercising, running, eating, buying, and cooking. Things that fill the whole, food, things, retail therapy. Temporary fixes. I don’t know. My head is running crazy. It’s all just a mess of sludge. Balancing drugs that quiet it down and being able to live a normal life. I just don’t know. And that is all.

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2 thoughts on “Sludge

  1. I love you. I wish that I could help. I am soooo sorry about your friend. Dad and I never ever wanted anything but for you to be happy. I hope he can sprikle a little bit of happy angel dust from Heaven so you can have a little bit of light this holiday. I love you more than life!

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  2. Grief is a beast. The year of firsts is very difficult, as I am finding out having lost a dear friend in March, but time will heal all wounds. I’ve found that writing helps. My thoughts and prayers are with you during this difficult time.

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