Good Luck With That

The truth is, my ex is not going to save me.  My family is not going to save me.  My friends are not going to save me.  The dead are not going to save me.

No matter how much I love them.

My brother's suicide saved my life. It was like he knew that it would take an act of supreme selflessness to save me. That he would even hesitate to make such a sacrifice has always been ludicrous to me, though I have never thought about it before now.

At the time, almost nothing could have shocked me enough to wake me, to make me see that I was standing unsteadily on the precipice. Yet, the unthinkable did happen, and it saved my life.

Now I stand, not on the precipice, but gazing into a chasm of grief. I know I am a fool for squandering my brother's gift to me.  I know that he would not want me to destroy my life, the life he saved--intentionally or unintentionally--by sacrificing himself.  I know that he would be disappointed to see me succumbing to my grief for him.

I know that I dishonor our love for each other by not pulling myself up by the bootstraps.

Love.   Love is sublime, yes?

No, fool.  Do not love too much.

Any questions?

Where is my brother?  Where is Jim?  I am not stupid--do not tell me he is dead.

I miss her

Okay, I miss her.  I miss her so much sometimes that it almost makes me sick.  And I know that that is stupid and weird.  It's been like three months.  And she wasn't that great, on the balance. [Not that great for me.]  I mean--what a sliding mindfuck we were together.  And what a fucking disaster she was for me...  So I should be getting over her...