After trauma, it is amazing how so many years later what could be considered a really small thing brings back the entire experience.

I was just watching the next to last episode of Six Feet Under’s fourth season and David has just been called to go into the police station to identify the man that held him up at gunpoint.

You know, it’s been so many years since I was called into the Hollywood police station to do just the same thing and it’s amazing how that experience does not go way. You don’t even see David going to identify the man, they just say that he has to go and he is calming freaking out, and that’s the end of the episode. Yet that is enough to send me into the throes of flashbacks and panic attacks. It’s like it was yesterday that I got the call to go and identify my wallet and Wendy’s killer at the police station. Dude, it’s seriously like fucking yesterday. Fuck.

Thank Goddess for writing. Thank you God for this blog because I don’t know what I would do without you.

Birthdays are hard for me. My birthday is in a few days and since Wendy died birthdays are so fucking hard. I don’t really know why. But they are. Probably because it’s meant to be a celebration of birth, of this gift of life and I feel like such an asshole because I can’t seem to be happy on my birthday. Also, it’s been years since I’ve celebrated a birthday with a close friend. Years. Something about that seems so wrong.

I don’t know when this is supposed to get easier. Earlier today I took a break from work to watch The OC. Yes, I know, it sucks it’s lame but I got hooked on it and oddly enough today was the day that Summer was finally dealing with Marissa’s death. The episode went through all the stages of grief: Denial, Bargaining, Anger, Depression, Acceptance. Somehow I feel I never really left the Depression stage, and it was really weird to watch such a meaningless show like The OC (unlike Six Feet Under which invokes healing with each episode) and have it affect me so deeply. I guess it was preparing me for tonight’s Six Feet Under where, here I am, finally just letting all of this go.

I miss Wendy. I miss my friends. I don’t know why I am here, in this God-forsaken city so far away from so many of the people I love. This sucks.

Someone tell me that one day I will sleep a whole night through without issue. Someone tell me that someday I will stop crying without being able to stop on a regular basis. Someone tell me that one day all of this is going to be okay and make some sense. Because I don’t understand it. And I don’t know what to do or where to go from here.

Someone tell me that one day I will stop crying.


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