60 motherfucking days


I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take. I’m just here. It’s Day 60 and I’m just here, feeling no better than I did on Day 1. I’m not having a pity party. But, I’m not used to feeling a lot. About anything. Except politics…not a lot of person to person type stuff. He pretty much broke me of that. This is strange and uncomfortable and so fucking painful. I had no idea anything could hurt so very much. It feels like something put it’s arm down my throat and started pulling on my insides. They don’t feel like they’re even where they should be. And my heart is broken. Really, really broken. The man was a menace, as far as I was concerned. Why is this happening?

I saw his family attorney yesterday. I had put it off several times. But I got nothing but good news when I finally went to see him. Everything’s fine…is going to be fine. The land, house…it’s mine now. Nobody can take it. And those killers at the fucking hospital can whistle for the three hundred grand. I am not legally responsible for a single penny of it. I was shocked to get that news and incredibly happy. Not because I expect a free ride, but because they did not have to do what they did. They just used him to experiment with that surgery. Cocksuckers. I swear. I’m so fucking mad about that shit. I still can’t get it out of my eyes…what they brought back to his room, saying it was alive. He was not alive. He was an it. A body, dead as a door knob. My doc told me they don’t use heart pumps on people who have beating hearts. I knew that. I fucking knew it. Goddamn them. I just hate those fucking bastards. OMG. I can’t stop seeing it. Oh shit. I can’t live this way.

I just wish I knew…like…on a ten scale…where you’re supposed to be with feelings and shit right now. There has to be a measure so I can figure it out and know if it’s going to go away and when. Everything reminds me of him. Everything. We shared so much for so long that I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. In so many ways I don’t feel like I exist anymore. Without him as a sounding board…as another child to keep watch over…as my friend…my adversary…life is just fucking empty.

I wake up alone. Sleep alone. Spend my days alone. That doesn’t feel much different than when he was here. I felt very solitary even when he was in the room. But, with him gone, it’s a different type of solitary feeling. And I can’t figure it out. That’s all. I just need to figure it out. Every time I see a cool KISS picture, I still save it and text it to him. I still feel like I have to be quiet all the time because he was always sleeping. Usually, he was in a soma coma and wouldn’t have heard a shotgun go off in the room. Even so, I was as quiet as I could be. It was always a relief when he’d go on a job out of town. Peace. But…I don’t feel any peace now.

I should stop this rambling. For whatever reason, this is the only outlet I have to really say what I’m feeling. I keep a strong face for my boys and my mom. For anyone I meet who knows and asks, I always smile and say I’m fine, everything’s wonderful and I couldn’t be more blessed to have so many people who love me. That’s true. And, it’s a lie. I am blessed, but I am not fine. And I don’t know why, or when I’m going to be fine. That’s all.


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