I screamed at you today. Hit my steering wheel a lot. Demanded that you explain to me why you decided to die. The uncontrollable, unexplainable rage hit. And my shoulders are still tight from it.
And now I’m in a fog like state mixed with this sense of spiraling out of control. Why oh why do the mood stabilizer meds have to be $1500 for three months when you don’t have insurance? I could use them right now. But I cannot afford $1500. I can’t afford the $500 for one month. Still trying to figure out how I am going to afford the anti-depressants.
I want some sense of tangible. All of this still feels like a dream. It feels like I am just waiting to come out of this dream to yell at you for making me so sad. And I’ve said it before. Weeks ago. Weeks… weeks.
You aren’t coming back. This isn’t a movie. Or a dream. This is merely life and I have to learn to live it again. But I don’t want to. But I don’t want to keep checking Facebook for your posts or logging into old email accounts double checking to see if I missed an email I forgot to save. Or freaking out because I don’t have enough left of you in photos and memories to get me through the rest of my life.
And here comes that rage again.