xdwriter_13
I don't remember the day that things turned around for me.
The day I finally got out of bed and decided that I wouldn't let another day pass with me wrapped between the sheets.
It's been five years. Five years of me walking around through life like a zombie, who's been to hell and fucking back. Five years of me still wondering what I could have done differently to change the outcome of my - our fate.
Truth be told, the stages of grief are not at all accurate as my therapist insisted they would be. Seeing a Therapist was Mom's idea. It happened about a year after you had gone and, well unless Mom came over, forced me into the shower, got me to eat something and dragged me to see Dr. Sawyer, I probably wouldn't have left my apartment at all that summer.
I was never angry, or shocked, I'd never experienced any disbelief. But in that same regard I have yet to experience the upward turn, find that hope and the answers that so many assured me I'd get if I let time heal.
Time. Funny concept.
The only thing that time has done for me is take the numbness you left behind, and turn it into unbearable pain. That's all I felt after you, pain. Pain is the only way I can think to describe the horrible physical ache in my chest, the feeling that made my body heavy with every move, that a simple act like laying on the couch had its repercussions because it felt like my body weighed a million pounds and I just couldn't move. I was numb, in pain and back to feeling numb. Those were my stages of grief.
How could I feel anything but numb. Until I met you, until you creeped your way into every fiber of my life, every feeling - every single fucking feeling was mediocre in comparison to any feeling I had when I was with you.