Living with a Tornado

I was watching The Hollywood Reporter Round Table of writers, one of them said "if you don't write it down it didn't happen" I wish that were true. I wish not writing this down would make it not real. Wouldn't that be grand? 

I feel I must write, it helps. Sometime it hurts but it still helps me process. I don't know if it will help me now. How do you process such intense grief? Such intense feelings of failure while at the same time feeling like you have done all you could? I can't escape the worry. The complete and utter sadness. I just want to sleep or escape. 

I watched all of The Umbrella Academy series on Netflix the other day. It was a good escape. Over the last couple months I watched all of Game of Thrones again for the seventh time. It was a good escape. But there is no escape really. My heart is broken. Shattered. Destroyed. I have to make myself breath. Breath in another breath of life, time, moments. I have to be here, not consumed.

I'm so angry with him. I have lost hope that he will be OK. Have you any idea what that is like? This rock that sits on my chest. The clumps of hair I hold in my hand, that I stare at in the shower and think "please stop falling out". CS Lewis said "I never knew grief felt so much like fear, I can't stop swallowing." I can't stop swallowing.

Grieving for the living is not something I can explain. For my child. I don't think I can even think straight really. The 2 years of living in this growing darkness has consumed me. I always feel like I'm acting. Like everything is deliberate rather than natural. Natural would be for me to scream, curl up in a ball, cry or sleep all day everyday. But instead I found fight in me I didn't know I had, resources, love, depth, so I would plan, try, try and try all just to have hope dashed again. Gather all my strength just to wear myself out pushing against the wind. 

Sometime I escape into my dream of traveling, finishing the Camino. Sometime I write my book.

I cherish the memories of better days before Abel trapped himself in a tornado. There were good years I think. I did try. God knows I tried. I did not succeed.

Right now Dean and Steele are putting away groceries, Steele just told me about cheap earrings he found at Walmart. Dean's voice, Steele's sweet hugs, they are here, home and keep me living, being deliberate, breathing. Daily phone calls with Evangeline. Life goes on. 

I know there are support groups for families who have members with mental illness. I need to find one.

Living with a tornado and now not even knowing where he is, worrying every minute of every day, feeling fear and dread for his future has taken it's tole on me.


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