Some days I hate you. When you took your life you took a year of mine. I've missed so much and I am so lost at times.
I hate that I cannot find my emotional balance. I learned previously to monitor my moods carefully, but now I cannot find baseline half the time. I am constantly questioning. Am I too sad? Am I exaggerating? How much of what I am feeling is grief and how much of my grief is real? My emotional paranoia is logically unfounded, but paranoia has no place for logic. I end up giving up and going with the flow. I am relying on others to let me know if I seem out of bounds. You know how I hate that.
I hate that your name tastes like your ash when I say it. I avoid saying it when possible. You are T, pretty much always T. When I do speak of you, I hate that I feel I should apologize for showing my pain. I feel exposed and intrusive like I was asked the time of day and showed my crotch because I didn't have a watch handy. Time does not equal vagina.
I hate the wave of irrational anger that swamps me when I smell you. It always happens when I am not aware of you being gone. When I am focused on a task or worse when I am dancing. I lose all equalibrium and once the anger drains, the grief is there. And I hate it. I was myself for a bit. Just me. Not me +1.
I hate the compelling need to talk to you when I am driving. I hate wondering if you hear me. I hate that I cry over you the most when I am in the car where people can see me.
I hate the craving to re-read old emails and chats. So far I have managed to get by without reading too many, but it is hard. I hate that you are on my chat list and I hate that you are still listed as a follower on this blog. Yet, I cannot bring myself to delete you. I hate that I feel weak because I won't do that.
Some days I hate you, but every day I miss you and I hate you for that too.