I write and write in order to survive the pain.
I am told that trials are only for a season. I am told that after the storm there is calm. I am told that after the rain there is sunshine. I am told that after the night there is the day. I am told that the darkest night will have the brightest stars. I do not feel the calm or the peace. My soul is still raging. I am terribly angry. I am at a loss. I do not want to go on. Everything seems so futile. I feel dislodged and uprooted. I feel blown by the wind and tossed away on the rocks. I feel lost and have no hope of being found. I feel like I am going through the fiery furnace and am being burned. The pain is unbearable. The despair is even worse. The reality of the permanency of the situation makes me boil with anger. The hopeless feeling that I can do nothing to reverse it destroys my will and my whole being.
I know that a few people feel for me, but for the most part, I feel alone. I think that people go on with their lives and that my calamity is just mine. I cannot understand how the world can continue to go on in the same manner as if David did not die. I cannot fathom this aspect of life. I yearn for him. I probably have written the same stuff over and over again. I cannot help how I feel. I cannot imagine ever being happy again. I am tormented and tortured. The pain is even greater because of the lack of support at times. I went to school and did my teaching. I felt no enthusiasm or interest in what I was doing. I just wanted to come home to David even though he is not there physically. I must be crazy, but I feel his presence in the house. I feel him with me.