death walking terror

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hq2W-b2nMYI


I had the following conversation with mom a little less than a month ago

Me: I just feel... dead, since that day.
Mom: That's normal, Andrew. Part of you dies when someone else dies. But you're still here.
Me: No, Mom, you don't get it! I died on June 17, 2009!


I seem to be alive. My heart seems to be working, my lungs are breathing, and I'm here writing this blog. However, it's like 3:20 in the morning.

I can't fucking sleep. I lost the ability to sleep okay ever since she died. Even when I exercise myself into exhaustion I lie there eyes wide open. It's getting worse. It's 3:20 in the morning and a host of demons is keeping me awake. I had a coffee and a coke during and after dinner, and caffeine can make me a little restless.

But these days, it doesn't make a difference. Sleep is nearly impossible no matter what.

I can't really eat either. I'm not an anorexic. I don't put myself into self-mutilating expectations of perfection through death and live for the pang of hunger. There is simply no pang of hunger. Today, I ate 3 donuts and had a few glasses of milk, and that's it until dinner. I went out with my dad, and at that point I was actually feeling hungry, so I wolfed down hot and sour soup, a sushi item called Dragon Ball (i had never ordered something so fast in my life), and whatever Dad couldn't finish of his meal, then went to Las Vetas and said hi to the pretty girl working there and got me a big cupcake! Sometimes I get hungry. Other times the idea of eating is just not appetizing. Mom says dying people are like that.

At what point does it stop being life and start being walking death?

I guess I "accepted" Emma's death a few weeks ago. I was with a friend who, as much as I love her, had no idea what she was talking about. She tried to tell me that I wasn't even trying to fight my grief. Anyone who hasn't talked to me this past year would probably agree with her based on what they know - however I'm not here to please them, I know I'm right, and I know that I was fighting it. However, what she said made me wonder - can I actually finish this off? I had come under the impression that there would be no end to this torment.

And it happened like a wind blowing over me... her burial. She was dead in the ground. And I walked on. Although it still pains me greatly that Emma's dead, I don't think about her ALL THE TIME like I used to. I get up and think about whatever, and practice and stuff. I'd say I think about her once every, half hour or so?

But what creature walked out of the graveyard? Not a Father Mackenzie, wiping the dirt off his hands. It doesn't work like that for people.

I'm different. Spiteful. With self-esteem, but a great deal of rage and enmity towards things in general. A lot of malice, a lot of misery. The capacity for optimism, but a great well of agony within.

It's not like Emma's the only thing that really bothers me. I have however many years middle/high school was of being treated like a retard by everyone under my belt, my home life is in tatters, and I actually do have Asperger's (it's mild autism) so I get a headache whenever I walk across a room.

I have the tools to overcome all the misery that was basically all I know... I think I can come back to life.

But look what this did to me. Look at what I am. I'm more like her than I am like you.