Another Year; A Different Time

The year slipped in. The zeal for writing died with the old year. It was too difficult to read what was written without becoming deeply depressed knowing there was more to write and not knowing how to write what had to be written

Then the questions with no answers. Having always written for myself; not ever soliciting new readers, perhaps even discouraging those who did click “like”; knowing it is so easy to go down the Reader and click “like” on every blog followed without reading one word; it is my position that I would rather have a few quality readers who actually read than those who simply clicked “like” without ever reading one word. This is so unacceptable in my world. This action by some readers was when I lost it and wrote “Do not talk to me about God.” It was so obvious that the previous post had not been read. It was then I came close to making purpleborough private, yet there were those who read and they were my virtual friends. I did not want to lose them. My world had already closed in around me and they felt closer than the friends I spoke with occasionally. There were a few exceptions and those exceptions know who they are.

Yet, I write again to let you who read know, I am not getting better and intellectually know this is called clinical depression. Tomorrow I see a psychiatrist. I do not know him nor have I ever heard of him. I wanted a clean blank slate sitting across from me. Maybe I could speak to this blank slate words that I cannot even write here. This blank slate is not suppose to judge me; this blank slate is only supposed to listen to me until the words are all said and the vessel is empty and devoid of “what ifs” and “regrets”.

Will going to a psychiatrist work? not a clue. I still smile and say “I am fine” because by now folk think I should, ought, needed to have moved past such debilitating grief. I have not. Part of my heart went with Freddie and it will never come back; however, I want to remember the good memories, if only I could find them to remember.

There is too much clutter; too many “bits and pieces” not finished now nor will they ever be finished. I cannot finish them. They are not mine to finish; Freddie only talks to me in my head; is that enough to “finish” those things needed to be finished between the two of us? Will that free me from those things I regret?

Sitting here in the silence; staring out at a beautiful January day, wishing he were here to finish those conversations. What a selfish thought. He finished his life without complaint; with grace and dignity even in the face of a mom who rattled the sabre at all the Hospitalist doctors. I wish I had been a kinder gentler soul so he would not have been caught in the middle.

It is time; another year, a different time to try this psychiatrist, who perhaps will be better than those I have visited in the past.

And please do not talk to me about God. I listen to representatives of God, or ministers/priest, from three different religions on Sunday’s.

16 thoughts on “Another Year; A Different Time

  1. There is no going back. Scars. We all have them. Some big. Some little. Groups. Clusters. Some heal. Most don’t. They all serve a purpose. Humanity, vulnerability, toughness. Continue your journey my friend. I hope and pray you find some inner peace along the way. ❤

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I don’t think anyone will ever completely recover from something as tragic as losing their son. But I do believe there’s a way to still find peace in life. I hope that these sessions with your psychiatrist will help you find yours. We’re here to listen. Sending healing vibes.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I read, but often can’t find the words to respond. I want them to be healing words, or at least something that comforts during a time when maybe comfort is impossible. Since the words don’t come, I send healing thoughts which, I realize, is not good enough without letting you know I’m sending and thinking them.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Linda, I read your thoughts and, as Robin wrote, sometimes there are no words to express our own thoughts. I send peaceful, calming thoughts through the cosmos to you as I sit quietly mulling over your writings empathetically feeling what you feel.When a loved one is no longer here with us, skin and all, to hug, etc we hurt! I enjoy our visits together-though few- and think of you every day.
    luv ‘ya, amp

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Linda, thank you for sharing your story with us. Taking care of yourself and talking to a psychiatrist are the first steps the healing process. I hope your blogging helps as well. The thing is this – we are humans. We make mistakes. We forget to interact, engage, embrace when we had the chance. And, as humans, we also forget all the times we stepped up, made a difference, said ‘I love you’ and reached out. That is our nature. We see our faults. We forget to see that at our basic core is love. Freddie knew that. You are love.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. MargeKatherine thank you for reminding me of things forgotten. There were times I could have interacted, engaged and embraced him, yet I was so afraid he would not answer and walk away as he so often did as a teenager. I have forgotten how difficult teenage years are and the double whammy of his father leaving hm when he needed him most. He really did not only leave me but also leave his children except those Sunday Disney days. Maybe that was enough. I do not know. I do know that in the end he knew I had always loved him and fought ever moment of every day for him to live; loved him without question and embarrassed him with my bluntness to so many persons, or things that I considered not acceptable.

      It is good to see you again.

      Liked by 1 person

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