I woke up this morning and thought I had talked myself out of the regular gut clinching, heart grabbing panic. No deal though. As I sit and write this, my gut is rolled up in balls and I can barely breathe. I have managed to keep the thoughts about why (i.e., Erin) under wraps for the moment, though. Otherwise I would be in a ball on the floor crying.
I can only think of one time in my life that I felt this way, and it was in graduate school one year when I had to teach a class for a class I was taking. I was so nervous and almost dropped the class. I think this was how it felt.
I wish it was not this way. I read this morning that it takes 1-2 years, typically, for the raw grief to subside. That’s definitely long enough to kill me, or to convince me to kill myself. I have been trying to live with this, but today I wonder if running from it isn’t a better option? I know, in the long run no it isn’t, but it is sure attractive today and right now.
Yes, this one is purely a woe is me post. I feel like I am losing my mind this morning. There is a piece of it that is still rational and is holding the personality together, but the rest of it is the equivalent of people screaming with their hair on fire.
