The Hardest Part

The hardest part about death, in relation to those left behind, is that you will never see them again.  Out of the blue I am crying again.  Trying to remember the last  time I saw my father, prior to December 3rd. 

As the tears flowed down my face,  I thought of all the times that I have fantasized of killing myself.  I would not want to be responsible for inflicting that sort of pain on my daughter and boyfriend.  However, my daughter is a therapist.  She would be hurt and angry,  but she would understand.

I always thought when I stopped self-injuring, the suicidal ideations would go away.  Well, I was wrong. I self Injur much less than any time in my life.  Yet I still do not want to be here.  I don’t understand.

Tears in Heaven

This is dedicated to a lot of people, my mom who died at the age of 34 on 10/1/76. My father who left on 12/03/15 and all of those who have touched my heart in someway. I may be mistaken, but I believe this was written by Clapton after the loss of his son. This song came to mind, I got overcome with emotion, and I had to get it out 

Cindy Darkheart

Juxtaposed Darkness….poems of depression and self injury

Ceromonial Knife

I cut the palm of my left hand last night.  It was with a beautiful knife I found on the ground, while walking with my daughter and grandoggy.  I remember my daughter saying, “Don’t pick that up! Who knows what it was used for and it is dirty.”  It really is a beautiful switchblade. 

So Tuesday will be the fifth month since I lost my dad.  Did I mention it was in a roll over accident?  I can’t remember and I don’t re-read my posts.  My posts are the emotions of a given moment.  Not to be relived again by re-reading. Of course I do end up reliving those emotions again because my life, my pain, my self-hatred, is a circle.

So at this moment I am about to take a nap before my test over 4 chapters.  I am taking an online course to be a medical biller and coder.  At the same time that I am in training for a new job. My brain hurts 😒  

I am wearing my dad’s West Virginia Coal Miner’s cap and hugging his Washington Redskins teddy bear.  I miss him. My daughter says I am sacrificing my mental health with this job.  I am not permitted to miss a day of training.  I have not seen my psychologist in two months.  I wonder if he thinks I am dead. Maybe he doesn’t think of me at all.