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July 15th
This feels stupid. I’m not some tween girl. I don’t want to write all my thoughts and feelings in a stupid diary. I guess I don’t have anything better to do at three in the morning. I don’t know. The therapist said it could help. I guess I’ll try anything at this point. The meds sure aren’t working, and I need to get some sleep.
I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be writing about. How tired I am? How I can’t focus at work because I can barely keep my eyes open? I don’t see how that would do me any good. She probably wants me to write about . . .
Forget it. This is stupid. I’m not doing this.
July 23rd
That damn therapist is making me write in this stupid diary again. She made me show her the journal in our session today. She told me she wouldn’t read it (like I believe her), but she wanted to see writing in it. She said if I wasn’t even going to try, she’d end our sessions, which would not make the wife very happy. I still don’t see how a diary is going to help me, but if she wants to see writing, here it is. I wrote in the damn diary. Happy, lady?
July 25th
Here we go, more writing. I promised I would write every night that I couldn’t sleep, so here’s me writing. It’s 2:30am, and I can’t sleep. Shocker.
July 26th
I wonder if she’s actually going to keep her promise and not read this. I could probably just write a bunch of gibberish, and she’d be happy because I ‘tried,’ which would make Sarah happy, which would make my life so much easier.
July 28th
She lied, surprise, surprise. She read the diary. She told me it’s not going to work if I don’t take it seriously. What does she want me to do? Cry all over the pages? Fine, lady you want to know my emotions? I’m frustrated about having to do your little homework assignment. I’m angry that you read the journal when you said you wouldn’t. How’s that for taking this seriously?
July 31st
I was sleeping. I was actually sleeping. And not the nodding off for an hour kind of sleeping, but real sleep. I almost made until morning. And then I started dreaming. I was a kid, and it was storming. I don’t remember being scared of thunderstorms, but I was in the dream. I tried to find my parents, but I couldn’t. They weren’t home. So, I tried to find Mark, but he’s . . . he’s gone. Damn it. I hate this.
August 2nd
I’ve made progress, apparently. According to the therapist, mentioning Mark in my journal means I’m starting to accept it. What the hell does she know? I’m not an idiot. I know Mark’s dead. I’m not trying to pretend that he isn’t. Are people really that stupid? Does this lady really need to remind her clients that reality exists? It’s no wonder we need therapists.
August 5th
Maybe people aren’t as stupid as I thought. I swear I saw him today. I know it wasn’t him, but God, it looked like him. And not like he was before he - . It was like he was when we were kids. He looked like he was twelve. He was just standing there in the living room. I must have stared for a little while because Sarah noticed. I didn’t tell her what I saw, but I think she knew something was off. She already thinks I’m messed up enough as it is. She doesn’t need to know I’m seeing my big brother’s ghost now.
August 7th
I wish I’d never started this damn diary. At least before, when I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn’t thinking about Mark. The therapist says I was, but it was just in my subconscious. That’s why I couldn’t sleep. When I slept, my subconscious took control, and I was fighting that because I didn’t want to think about Mark.
But now, I can’t stop thinking about him. The therapist says that’s progress, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like progress. I don’t want to think about him. He’s gone, and there’s nothing I can do about it. That’s it. The end. End of story. Why does it have to be more complicated than that? Why does my head want to make it more complicated? I just want to move on with my life. Is that so much to ask?
August 8th
Dad called today. I don’t think I ever realized how much Mark sounds like him. Sounded like him. We didn’t talk about him. I wonder if he’s going through all of this damn subconscious/conscious stuff that I am. I wonder if he’s having trouble sleeping. I wonder if he keeps seeing Mark in places he shouldn’t be. I didn’t ask him, though. I don’t want to talk to him about all of this. It’s bad enough that Sarah made me see a therapist. I don’t need other people knowing about it. They don’t need to know how messed up I am.
The therapist keeps telling me that I’m not messed up just because I need a little help, but she has to say that, doesn’t she? If she didn’t, she’d be out of a job.
August 10th
Yesterday, I actually got through a whole day without thinking about him. I guess I got caught up in work, and then Sarah and I went out to eat with friends, and by the time I got home, I was so tired, I just passed out. I didn’t realize it until I woke up this morning that I hadn’t thought about him all day. And the worst part about it is now I can’t stop feeling guilty. How messed up is that? When I was thinking about Mark, I was miserable, and now I don’t think about him, and I feel guilty! I feel like I don’t have any right to go on with my life. What right do I have to work like everything is normal? How can I just go out and have fun with friends? Mark will never get to do any of that again! He’ll never get to have fun with friends again, or move further up the corporate ladder, or go on another vacation. How can I just go about my everyday life when Mark will never get another day?
August 11th
Apparently feeling guilty is normal. At least that’s what the therapist says. I’m starting to think that if I told her I had sprouted antlers and spontaneously sang show tunes, she’d tell me it was normal. Is this my life now? Am I going to spend the rest of my life talking to therapists, writing in some damn diary, and feeling guilty for doing the most mundane things? I can’t live my life like that! What kind of life is that? I would have been better off without that damn therapist and this stupid journal.
August 14th
I almost did it. I was almost back to a normal life. I went to work like normal. Came home, had dinner, went to bed like normal. For two whole days, I felt like I used to. And then it all came back. Everything. The guilt, the pain. I swear Mark was following me around today. I couldn’t get away from him. He was in my head. How does that happen? How do I go from being perfectly normal to feeling like I’m going insane? How the hell do I move on from this? How do I stop feeling like this? Why is it that every time I think maybe, just maybe, this might all be over, it hits me again and it feels so much worse than it did the last time? I did my mourning. I’m trying to move on, but I can’t. When will this end?
August 15th
Apparently, it won’t end. Ever. At least, that’s what the therapist says. That’s just great. I thought that’s what I was paying her for. To help me move on. She says that there will always be this grief somewhere inside me. It just doesn’t always hit. I might get to a point where I can go days, weeks even without feeling it, but then it’ll hit out of nowhere and I’ll be right back to feeling like crap. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that. I guess it’s nice to hear that it won’t always be like this, that I’ll be able to live a normal life, mostly. But I don’t want to have days were I just randomly will be an emotional wreck. I don’t need that.
August 20th
I think I’m starting to understand what the therapist was saying. It’s not that I forget about Mark. I don’t even forget that he’s dead. I just live my life like I’ve always done. And most of the time, life is fine. I miss Mark, sure, but I can still go about my life without him. That’s what moving on is, right? Learning to live life without your loved one.
But then it just hits, and it comes on so suddenly without any rhyme or reason. It happened today at the office. I was in the break room making a cup of coffee and all of the sudden, I just broke. I had to run to the restroom and cry for twenty minutes before I could calm myself down enough to go back to work. I didn’t even cry like that at his funeral!
The therapist keeps saying that I’m doing well. She’s actually talking about meeting less often. When all of this started, I would have agreed to that in a heartbeat, but now, I feel like I need those sessions. I need someone reassuring me that I’m normal, even if she isn’t telling me the truth.
August 24th
Sarah told me today that she thinks I’m doing much better. She said I seem more like myself. I’m not sure how to feel about that. She knows me better than anyone, so if she says I seem more like myself, than I’m sure I do, but I don’t really feel like myself, at least not like I used to be. I told her as much. She said that’s okay, that she doesn’t expect me to be completely back to normal. I’m glad she doesn’t expect me to bounce right back, but it makes me wonder, will I ever be back to normal?
August 29th
I laughed today. I didn’t realize it until a few hours later, but I think it was the first time I had really laughed since all of this started. Even better, when I realized it, I didn’t feel guilty about it. Well, not for long, anyway. Actually, it reminded me of Mark. He was always trying to make me laugh. He was a bit of a class clown. I don’t think Mark would want me to stop laughing. I don’t think he’d want me to feel guilty for laughing, either. Hell, if he’s a ghost somewhere, he’s probably pulling all kinds of pranks trying to get laughs.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get ‘back to normal,’ but maybe this is my new normal. I think I might be okay with that.
September 6th
I’ve officially had my last therapy session. It feels weird, knowing I don’t have to go back (unless I feel like I need to). She told me it could be helpful to hold on to the journal. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll write it in every now and then, if I feel like I need to. Could be helpful on the bad days. Or just when I need to remember him. It’s kind of nice knowing that this little book will always be here, whenever I need it.
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