Unnamed Post

I cannot think of a title for this post.  My father has been dead 32 days.  The pain is insurmountable. I have taken a 3 week leave of absence from work.  I think I am getting a handle on my grief, and the smallest thing usually unexpected triggers tears and sobbing.  And then there is SI.  I can’t believe I will never see him again.

I am at a loss for words.  I have not been to therapy in …I can’t remember when.  It was before Christmas, yet after the day my father died in the truck accident.  

I can’t seem to numb myself no matter what I do.  What does that mean? What do I do? I function and I crumble.  I crumble and I function.  Hiding in my apartment does not help this. Going to the mental hospital won’t help this.  SI doesn’t help this. 

I am so tired of feeling obligated to live.

Beautiful Dream…Why Did I Wake Up?

I dreamed that my father was back.  He was wearing the gray suit he was buried in.  We were in a real fancy smancy hotel. I guess you would call it a resort hotel.  The kind rich people go to.  There was a massive party in the penthouse, to celebrate him coming back to life.  I kept trying to take elevators to the top floor, but the elevator always let me off on the wrong floor.

When I finally made it to the penthouse, his wife was wandering around aimlessly.  When I asked her where he was, she wouldn’t tell me.  I fought my way through a crowd and finally found him sitting at a table.  He and my uncle looked so happy and they were laughing together. 

Then I woke up. I said allowed,”bitch.”  Then I realized it was Christmas morning and he was gone….

<crying>

My hand hurts. In between my fingers again. 

I am going to try and go back to sleep for a couple of hours. I will then wake up and put on something red. I will have Christmas dinner ready by the time my daughter gets home from work.  We will open gifts and I will try my best to smile.

Not be Me

Can’t I just not be me for a little while. It hurts so bad and I have to try and keep it in all dat at work.  Everytime a member days Merry Christmas I want to sob. 

I miss my dad and my leg hurts. As I have said numerous numerous times over the history of this blog….that’s the point. The wound is about the size of a nickel now. If I don’t regain control, I will keep digging and ripping until it’s bigger than a quarter.  This is not a plan. I am just thinking of past behavior and examining the evidence as my psychologist likes to say.

Why can’t I not be me for a little while? Because I have errands to run. Because I can’t take any more time off work.  Because this paycheck is cut in half.  Because, Because, Because.

It had been 19 days since my dad died.

I am in the parking lot at work. An hour and a half early.i need to go home and get in the bed. I feel like I am drowning in depression since my father left 15 days ago.  Like quicksand.  I worked Wednesday and was off Thursday.  Here I am again. 

If I don’t leave and go home, it will not be me that gets out of this car and goes to my cubicle.  It will be robot Cindy. 

I am desperately looking for a legit work from home job. Even a graveyard shift where I can work in solitude. I had a week and a half off when my dad died. It’s not enough.  What is going to happen?  I don’t know how to handle the intensity of this grief.

Two Hours Sleep

I slept from around 11pm to 1am.  It is now 4 something in the morning.  Around 2:00am the cable box shut itself off.  I am sure it was wishful thinking, but I said aloud “DaD?”

I miss him and wish there was a way to know he was not in pain or scared when he left.

My head hurts.  My heart hurts. I feel so alone. Tomorrow he will have been gone for two weeks.

Maybe one of Netflix’s B movies will put me to sleep.