annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary

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Gone

My therapist suggested that when I'm having emotional struggles it's helpful to write about them, about what happened, how I felt and how I view the response. The very idea makes me want to lay on the floor and howl, but I don't like not writing either. 

I've been reading through my blog of 2019, up to when Sam died. I'd forgotten that I really reached the end of what I could do. It makes hard reading. Like this 

Bad, and getting worse. If I don't keep my mind busy all I can think is wanting to shake ED, to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense back into her, to shout at her to stop pissing about and just come back, come back, come back. I could smack her, I'm just so angry so tired so broken at the endless hours sat with her, or not sat with her, feeling I should be, unbearable to think of her alone, unbearable to do anything, but somehow still able to be distracted, especially by a stupid word game I have on my phone. Then the stats came up - I've been using the phone for an average of seven hours a day this week - fucking hell, seven hours. I am just broken and don't know how to mend myself. 1:02 a.m. - 03.08.19

And look at the date on that - less than a month before she died. I feel like I abandoned her at the end, my baby, my poor wee girl. I put the decorations up today, and had to put some in the hall, where her shrine is - I hate the word shrine, but that's what it is - because it feels as if that's her in some way - I put them on the wall opposite her photos, as if she could see them when I know she can't, she's not there, she's not anywhere

12:25 a.m. - 23.12.22

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