Jen

I have three kids, and they keep me running-- but I still get bored. I go through the motions while my brain runs like a hamster on a wheel. I wish I could say my family was enough motivation for me to want to be here (as opposed to having to be here, if that makes sense)... I guess I'm a terrible, horrible person because they're not. I love my children more than anything-- really, I do-- but going through the rest of this life as nothing and no one but their mum is a bleak prospect. Is it so, so terrible to want more than that?

So how do I stop?

Hugs, hugs, hugs. I don't dare hope for any signs for myself, but I love when others receive them. I know how it feels to have gone as far as you can go, and still have to push forward... all I can say is that we're stronger than we think. Lots of love, sweetie.

Ohhh tell us how it is! I would love to see it. I'm scared to get the cast album because I think I'd sob my way through it.

I saw A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder last weekend, it was fabulous and amazing and wonderful. I've been listening to it pretty much nonstop since I got home, and for some reason, this song has been stuck in my head. It has nothing to do with anything, really, but for reasons I can't explain it just resonates with me right now. Foolish to think anyone would ever want me... foolish to think that pigs could fly... :-\ "Foolish to Think":

Yes, please. Please?

I don't want to be this person-- I don't want to be bitter, hateful, resentful. It's easy to tell myself to let it go, but... I just can't. Every single day reality stops me in my tracks: I'm alive, he's not, and I have to go forward with nothing. The buck stops here. Nobody takes care of me, or even checks to see if I'm coping; nobody will simply hold my hand and tell me it will all be okay. I have plenty of supporters at the pep rally, but no one to actually help me move the ball. I hate it. I don't mean y'all, by the way. And I really do appreciate being able to come here and whinge and moan. ((((HUGS))))

(((((HUGS)))))) I could have written your post word for word, and I'm not even sick. I hate it, I hate this reality. I can't imagine ever feeling safe again. I'm so sorry, I hope you feel better soon.

Came home after another delightful 12 hours at work to find the fridge is not working. The freezer is okay, but the fridge is lukewarm at best. Scrounged some supper, now we're catching up with Doctor Who episodes, which isn't the worst way to spend a Sat night, but it's far from sexy. It's also far from Broadway, which is where I was last Sat night. I was happy that night. Can't say as much tonight. Sigh...

I want to believe this. I do-- I'm like Mulder, I want to believe. But nothing I've tried has worked. I've taken risks, I've opened my heart, tried to get out and socialize, and at the end of the day I'm still alone, unwanted, without purpose. I suppose that not really true, but it feels true... and I don't know what else to do. I don't want to do anything at all. I want to go to sleep and not wake up. Maybe it's just the time of year. Maybe it's just my reality. Whatever it is, I don't want it. Thank you for the hugs. I needed them. Hugs back to you.

I can't do this anymore. I can't, I'm done, I just want to stop now. Please, can I just stop? I'm tired of hurting. I'm tired of this unfathomable emptiness. I'm tired of being a black hole in human shape. All that's left is anger and pain and bitterness, and I just don't want to live this way any longer. I'm okay but I'm not okay. I can't. I just can't. I used to hate myself. Now I don't, but I hate my life and everything in it. I think I deserve better than this misery. I don't know why I'm still suffering, but I don't know how to stop. There's no love left. It's just hate. There must be something else, there must be... but what if there's not?

Yep. I'm tired of it. He keeps being dead and I keep being alone. I'm so freaking sick of this gig.

((((Phil)))) I am so, so sorry for your loss... I wish I had magic words to make it better, but there simply are none. Keep talking, keep posting. We're here, we're listening, and even though we hate it, we get it. One thing that made me incoherently angry in those early days was all the well-meaning people telling me, "He's gone, you'll have to accept it." Some things are simply unacceptable. I'm three days shy of 19 months into this trip through hell, and I'm still wishing my life away. The crushing agony has lessened, but the reality hasn't changed. I so wish I could say differently. Just hold on. One day at a time. One hour, one breath. We survive the un-survivable. We're still here.

My Halloween was wonderful, but not because it was Halloween-- I was in Manhattan, catching a double feature of Broadway shows. We spent all day in the theatre district, and I was surprised at the relative tameness of Times Square, considering. The crazies started to come out around 11, but by then we were headed back to Penn Station, so it was all good.

Yes. OMG, YES. Sums it up perfectly. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is right. Exactly.

Hugs, hugs, and more hugs. Useless, I expect, but I'm rooting for you! You got this.

I wish I had more than (((((HUGS)))))... No one should have to deal with all that, no one. I'm so sorry.

It's been a rough week. I took a cross-country trip, comedy and drama and tragedy (in the form of a broken ball joint) ensued. I laughed and cried in equal measure. At this point, I'm so tired of feeling that numbness would be a welcome relief. I got onto a plane in New York Wednesday night and huddled around my heartache-- I didn't speak to my seatmates or the flight attendants, I pretended to be asleep so I wouldn't have to. That lump of hot lead was back in my chest, and the rest of me just felt empty. That lasted until I made my connection in Atlanta-- then there was a hitch (par for the course, for this trip), and a brief delay. I started to get angry. Not at the airline-- the delay couldn't be helped-- but at Jim. At my Jim, whom I loved more than my own life, who loved me more deeply than anyone ever has or ever could. If he hadn't left-- if he hadn't died-- I wouldn't be stuck in that damned airport. I wouldn't have gone to New York. I wouldn't have driven his stupid car across the stupid country, only to have it experience catastrophic breakdown at the finish line. I wouldn't be scrambling to come up with repair funds, and I wouldn't be nursing a broken heart. None of this would be happening, none. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I'm ashamed to admit this... but I'm going to anyway, because I need to get it out. So please don't judge me too harshly, all right? In that moment, I hated him. Hated. Vehemently, venomously. I hated him for leaving me to struggle through this life without him, I hated him for breaking his promise ("I will never leave you, I will never abandon you"), I hated him for taking away my safety and my peace and my happiness. How could he do that to me, when he supposedly loved me?? How??!?! I used to think that love and hate were opposites, but now I know better. I think you have to love someone to truly hate them-- they're flip sides of a coin. The opposite of love is indifference, and that's what killed my first marriage. Loving someone who really couldn't care less whether you do or not is soul-killing. Losing someone who genuinely loved you, whom you loved completely and without reservation, is devastating... but as long as I can still feel that hot-lead agony, I know my soul survives. I'm sorry, my Jim. I'm sorry I heaped such vitriol on you that night. A wise friend of mine says emotions are neither good nor bad; they just are-- so there's no real point in apologizing for them. But still... I feel guilty. I loved you. Love you. Always will. But I wish with all my heart you hadn't left me to this bleak new life. I don't hate you, not really. I hate that you're gone. I hate that I can't hear your voice in my head anymore. I hate that I can't feel your arms around me. I hate that I'm still in free-fall after all these months, which feel more like years, and that there's no safe landing in sight.

Oh, I miss it. I miss him. The way he would flash an "I love you" in American Sign Language across a room, or the grocery store aisle. Silly little songs he made up. Pseudo-ventriloquism with the cats: "Bring me a cookie. I need a cookie for my tiny, tiny mouth." Wouldn't make sense to anyone in the whole world but me. Never will again. That hurts. Oh, that hurts...

If that's what it takes, sweetie, then let it happen. So many hugs. This is so freaking unfair.

((((((((JS)))))))))) Ditto. Ditto, ditto, ditto. And while I'm on the subject... just fuck my life. Fuck it straight to hell.

Mike, I am so, so sorry for the loss of your precious wife. My sweet husband turned 40, then died suddenly three days later-- almost 19 months into this wid existence, I'm still trying to process it. Keep talking. We get it, much as we wish we didn't.

Kevin, I lost my Jim to a sudden blood clot to the lung as well. I am so, so sorry. (((((HUGS)))))

I am trying to force my brain into a more positive mindset-- every time I tell myself "no one will ever want me again," I stop and correct it to "someone, somewhere, might possibly want me someday." But I don't really believe it. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't even want to think about it. So why the hell can't I just STOP???

'Twas marvelous. ((((((HUGS)))))) Must do again!!!