This...
This is what it's like to be me. Every day I wake up with the deepest, unquenchable ache in the core of my being. Every day I know there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Every day I go through the motions of life and not really feeling much of it.
What was this person's scream for? What shook them to their core? Did they recover? Did they get resolution? I feel like this every single day on the inside. I feel like there's this horror inside, the horror of having lost my child. The horror of having to go on without her. The flashbacks. The not knowing what her last thoughts were. Mine is a silent scream. People don't REALLY want to know how you are. They want your pat answer that you're fine because that makes THEM feel better. How I am is far from fine. I feel like I carry around this bag of the most unthinkable darkness that I can't dare open up. What would people think? They would turn away, but really no one is there TO turn away. It's just me, and just Tim. If I opened that bag up just a smidgen, it may all start coming out and then I may never be okay again, even the modicum of "okay" that I am now. I have no one to talk to. I am so alone in this. I miss my child. My heart aches for her. For who she could have been and yet...with her bipolar and the hold drugs had on her, I don't know they would have ever loosened their grip for her to have the life we wanted for her. They were relentless adversaries that masqueraded as friends. Giving her false peace with lies. Cut, it will make you feel better. Do this drug, it will make you feel better.
So every day I get up, work, do my necessary stuff. I want to see Michael more and we are going to see him in a few days. He misses his sister and says he talks to her every day. That both hurts me and helps me. He shouldn't have to talk to her spirit, but then I'm conflicted and know she's so, so much better now than she ever would have been here on earth...it's just the momma's heart in me that misses this sweet precious daughter that I held, fed, bathed, taught, laughed with, cried with, held her hand, slept with til she could fall asleep. I miss her sassy sense of humor. I miss how she was so dang smart it was scary. I miss her compassionate heart....the way she cared for the downtrodden of society and was such a lover of all animals. I miss her texting me from her bedroom...or the bathroom in Walmart. I miss having a scary movie buddy. I miss having the dream of being with her when she brought her own child into the world and growing in a new relationship with her. I don't get that dream now. All of this and the fact that I have no one to talk to about it lends itself to my own silent scream...the one inside my heart and mind where it's safe from onlookers and those who would judge her and me....the ones who think that her loss is "less than" because of how she died. Amanda was more...she was more to me. She was more to her family who loved her. So I keep my scream hidden inside. This is me.
