While I wanted to try and do this post as a video - I am not ready for that. So you will need to hang tight with me and read for now.
"Maybe I am just not that strong - I am not them and they are not me."
This is how I respond in my head of when I am told I will get through this and it will get easier. I want to kick, scream and yell, if I only had the energy to do so of course and say "I am, I am dead".
Why? Because I am. I am able to flick on a light switch for a very, very short amount of time for work and then the lights go out before I can even spread that focus and attention to the people who deserve it the most, my kids and husband.
The physical pain in my body has completely taken over me at this point. When I awaken in the morning, it is truly debilitating. I can barely move as my shoulders are stiffer than they ever have been before. My head pounds harder and longer than it ever has before. My neck is more immobile than ever has been before. My chest pain pounds and crushes more than it has ever done before. Other parts of my body I don't even recognize anymore.
My emotional pain has killed me. This must be what I deserve. To go through the pain and suffering my son went through and what led him to self medicate in the first place. A place of sadness, isolation and well, a place of mere death.
I know I can't do this much longer. I can't do it now. I am SO isolated and lonely in this area made only for the dead who deserve to experience a hell like no other.
I am trying. I am trying to understand I am not the only mother to have lost their son. But, I will be honest, I am failing. I can't understand how others have survived this. And if I can't understand it, then they can't understand me and my pain.
I know - you can get upset about my raw feelings. You don't have to remind me. I know my feelings and thoughts are irrational. I can't make anything make sense right now. Everything is illogical. Everything. I went to a group grief class last night and I have never felt so isolated in my life.
I share my emotions with my husband and I end up hating what he tells me what I should do. It doesn't fucking help and it won't make a fucking difference. And to think that our relationship was growing stronger because of this. Perhaps it will and perhaps it won't. Time will tell, I suppose.
Perhaps one day I will be able to rise from my own death. I also suppose, time will tell.
Until then, I am, I am dead.