I use to…

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I use to call you whenever I want.

I use to see us together again.

I use to dump all the thoughts and shit that runs through my head non stop, in your lap and talk about it for hours, from every angle.

I use to feel such comfort in having you there, to tell me no matter what, “It’s OK girl, I love you and you still got me.”

Those are magic words. I never knew that not hearing them after five and a half months could hurt me so very badly.

When things in my life happen, it hits twice as hard, because I don’t have that special, amazing someone to remind me I am loved.

Don’t ever think you didn’t matter to people, because I can’t even begin to tell you what losing you has done to me. Like yesterday the owner came in to talk to me about some heart tins I want to order for your memorial. I felt bad for him as we were talking stickers, I felt myself feel it all as I said your name and birth/death dates should be on the bottom sticker. He looked at me and said, “You’re emotional”. I said, “I know, and I am sorry.”

This morning I went in and I don’t know why, but I was uncontrollably sobbing about you. Like the loud and hyperventilating kind. For a while I was alone in the dip room, and I went to a box of meltdowns and just beat the fucking shit out of them, leaving them in little tattered shards of beautiful beesewax. Afterwards I just said accusingly, “I FUCKING MISS YOU!”

This is probably a horrible thing to admit, but I have been thinking of when I get your ashes. I want some to go in the ground, in a tree I could plant. I want some to go on a memorial necklace that will have sick n sin engraved on it with your “dates”, and the last thing I was thinking of doing will probably gross the world out and set me up for horrible scorn, but…well, I was thinking of snorting a line of you.

I know that is way, way, way fucked up of me to even say, but I miss you and want you with me so bad that in a state of grief, it seems perfectly normal and acceptable to my fucked up state of being lately.

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About iwentcrazy

I am very, very, very average. And very, very, very lucky.

Posted on May 22, 2015, in grief and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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