6 Months

Six months of the most unbelievable pain I've ever felt.

I miss him so much.

I always wonder whether I should post comments like these. For one, it seems to worry some of the people closest to me, and I sometimes wonder if it makes me look like a whinger.

But as I've said many times, I set out to document every step along the way, and I mean to do just that.

Sometimes I think I'm getting worse, not better. In the early months after Sam died, I was doing a passable job of 'keeping it all together'. Or so I thought. Perhaps I confused not crying and being strong with what it really was - supressing everything I "should" have been feeling.
I certainly cry more now. I feel more sad more often. And as I've mentioned before, there is an aspect of depression (whether you call it that or not) that has crept in: I don't feel like working, cooking, cleaning, exercising, even interacting with people all that much. And I am doing just enough to stop things from going too far.
(Don't worry readers, I am going to see my GP today).

When I write posts like this one, people talk to me or send me messages asking if I want to talk. It think it's fantastic that they do that; it shows that they care, but most of the time I don't want to talk.
There are lots of reasons why: I don't want to burden people with it; I've documented it here anyway; I'd rather talk about other things with people that are close to me. And I just don't know how much it would help. Me, that is. Thank you for the offers, but it's not what I need.

As I've said before, I get a lot out of putting everything down here. It's kind of like a clearinghouse of thoughts sometimes, and there have been times that writing it down has helped a lot. I think in the future it will also be good to come back and read through it all. I sometimes struggle with the public/private nature of it, but I actually enjoy the fact that 'strangers' read it and get something out of it, as well as people that I know.

I could have done all this with a diary, but I don't know whether I would have. I've kept many diaries in the past. Briefly. There were the numerous 'teen angst' journals, where I agonised about boys, dreamed about pouffy-haired popstars, and collected angsty poems and song lyrics. There are the million diet diaries that I've started and stopped (seriously, who writes down EVERYTHING they eat and drink, every day, for years on end??). There are the creative writing journals that I've started: "observe everything, write everything down". There are the journals I've kept (or is that 'meant to keep') about my kid's antics. And there have been countless other diaries over the years. None of them have lasted long. This is the only one that I've sustained longer than a couple of months. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the subject matter. Maybe it's the medium. Maybe it's me and where I am...

Anyway, I can't believe I've written another one of these posts. I've got another one that's almost ready to go, will post later. Today I'm having some 'me' time: going to the doctor and having some quiet time (last time I took a day off, Oliver was home sick too). Later on, Anthony, Oliver and I are meeting some of Sam's friends and one of his teachers for Goodberrys. It will be nice to see them.