Stories

 
It’s not good.
 
I’m working so hard to forget.
I don’t know what to think or how to think, and I think I’m starting to lose it.

 
At least when I’m going out or not eating or sleeping I have control again. I choose to drink. I need other things to think about. I can’t think about Joe. I don’t know how to think about Joe.
I don’t forget him, but I have a hard time remembering him.
It feels like so long ago since everything.
 
Maybe I’ve been forgetting all along. Maybe I’ve been shutting out my memories. Maybe I was shutting out the past so the present wasn’t as painful. It was painful enough.
 
It was terrible. I think it was terrible.

 
I think I handled it well.
I think I processed it as I went and accepted it along the way.
 
But now I’m spinning.
I can feel it. I feel the knots in my stomach. I feel the tears wishing they could drop from my eyes. I can feel my hands beginning to shake. I can feel myself falling apart.
 
I can feel myself wanting to fall apart. It’s not happening, though.
I think I’m still trying to control things.

 
I am mostly happy.
I am happy for Joe. I know Heaven is better than Earth. I know he is healed. Finally.
 
I am happy for me.
No, I don’t think I am happy for me.
If I were honest, I am sad for me.
But I don’t know how to be sad.
 
I am fighting bitterness, because I want to be better.
I can’t get bitter. I can’t.
I have been there before, and it certainly didn’t make me happy.
 
Life is not all about being happy.
It’s not. More accurately, it’s about being content.
And being content – well, that’s a choice.

 

Fortunately, I tell myself stories. I always have.

I’m really good at telling myself stories.
So even now, I tell myself stories. I tell myself that God has a plan. I tell myself it will work out. I tell myself everything will be okay.
 
I tell myself everything but the truth.
 
But then I realize that it is the Truth. So I tell myself the story again.

 

I wish I could tell myself sad stories.

 

Penned: April 1, 2012. Shared: August 30, 2012.

 

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