"Sometimes, I wish this wasn't my life"

That's what I said to one of my best friends, Timmy, a few days after Vin died. I meant it. On the other hand, I'm not sure whose life I wish I had. I mean, for the most part, I LIKE being me and like most of the stuff in my life. I guess I just feel like I've had more than my share of losses is all. But I suppose a lot of people could say the same or worse. (So basically, I should quit my bitching, is what I'm getting at here.)

You know that dream you have where everything is so realistic that you wake up and you're just SURE that everything in your dream actually happened? I feel like my life is that dream, and at any moment I'm going to wake up and everything will be back to the way it was and Vin will still be alive. Oh yeah, like that would fix everything. Of course it wouldn't - it would only change if I woke up with the foresight of what was about to happen. And even then, who can predict with any certainty if that (the knowledge that he was about to kill himself) would make any real difference?

It's all just wishful thinking. Everything I think and do and say lately is all just one big bundle of shit labeled "I'm just trying to cope here, people."

Some days are better than others. Some days are spent reading books like "After Suicide" (Hewitt) and feeling like someone out there actually understands and relates to all the conflicting thoughts and emotions I'm having right now. Other days are spent being comforted by my old friend Jack Daniels. Seems he knows all the right buttons to push to get me to talk (albeit to myself) and open up and cry and cry and cry and cry. Most days, though, I'm just stuck in the middle. Trying not to submerge myself neither in sorrow nor drink.

I'm still getting out of bed every day. Breathing in and out all day long. Going to work, paying my bills, cleaning the house, taking care of the cats and the dog and at times, my brother.

I fully grasp that although I want the world to just fucking STOP FOR ONE DAMN MINUTE because everything hurts too much to go on...that's not going to happen. The world is going to keep spinning and everything in it is going to move forward and people are going to walk around all day like everything is fine and normal. And I have to move with it (and them) and do my best to hang on to what feels like a merry-go-round spinning at warp speed. No matter how much I feel like I'm going to puke.

Because, see, just when you think you've HAD. IT. UP. TO. HERE.....well, then life gets really interesting. It throws you another curve ball just to prove it ain't fuckin' around.

My mom told me Friday she has breast cancer. Now ain't that some shit. Too early to tell much of anything, but I can say this - no way she's going down without a fight. (Thank God.)

Sigh.

I'm more okay than this post makes me sound. Got a great therapist (no seriously - she's good - our third session, she was telling me to go read "Codependent No More" (Beattie), which, while correct, was more insightful than any therapist I've ever had in so short a time) and I have tremendously supportive friends. I'll BE okay.

I'll find my balance.