I'm not here because I want to be. Just know that. I don't need someone's opinion on what I'm going through. You couldn't possibly understand. I don't expect you to. I don't expect anyone to. What could you - or anyone else - say that could possibly make me feel like this will get better? I don't need reassurance and believe me, I don't need sympathy. So forget about it. Don't say anything. We might as well sit in silence for the next hour. Nothing you say will change the reality I'm suffocating in. Nothing.
Except, you know what's funny? People keep approaching me with this subtle eagerness to involve themselves in what I'm going through... But they don't get it. It's sick. I feel obligated to take that sympathy and mold it into something useful. Like this. Yet, truthfully, I just don't know where else to go. What else to do.
Everyone always has high expectations. I've learned to have none. I mean, how do I know I'm not going to be woken up at 4 am to the sound of sirens blaring outside my window? How am I going to wake my kids up that morning and tell them daddy's not coming home?
That's the problem with being optimistic and not having your guard up... Shit happens, even when your eyes are closed. You can't fall asleep and expect things to be the same when you wake up. And I hear, all the time, "life is short". But you never really understand what that means until someone else's act of idiocy opens your eyes.
It's been a year. The longest, emptiest, most brutal 365 days of my life. There's always that false hope lingering in the back of my mind, thinking he's going to walk through the door and kiss me and tell me everything's okay. It's this constant reminder that he's not here. He's never coming back.
Am I supposed to go through the rest of my life and pretend that never happened?
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