The Otherside of Love

Dear T,

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.

Love,

A