I am not okay

While, I am sure it is obvious to Kim, it seems subtle to me. I am trying to be strong, trying to dislodge the giant ball of shitty, soul eating emotion that is stuck inside me, I am trying to be there for my family, my Mom, my sponsee, for Kim and the boys; I try to go through the motions and appear okay, but I am NOT OKAY! Prayer and meetings aren’t helping at all and the only person that I believe could help, Kim, feels so far away. My fault or hers, our mutual, I don’t know. The only thing I do know is that I want more than anything to know the words to say, to have some expression that will help her understand and help me to make the ball of shitty emotion explode and bleed out of me in river of tears and screams, but they aren’t there and Kim has grown so resentful of my distance and the adverse side affect of my not being like my true self, that when I started to to open up, when for a brief moment the words were there and I felt the ball moving, she jumped on me about NOT Sharing and I shut right back down.

I wish it wasn’t this way, I wish it was changing, that when it gets too big, when I get scared, I didn’t shut down and turn into something less than I am, than I want to be, but it hasn’t changed yet and I doubt it will, which is one of many reasons why on a long enough time-line, everyone who is too close to me gets weary of me and today, though I should be grateful and yada-yada, I am not, I hate being me, I hate it and I am so fucking tired, I just want to lay down and give up.

Cursing work

and the days when it is crazy busy for both of us. Proud of her and all that she manages to accomplish at a high volume, high pressure job..but I really miss my wife today and in spite of it being my 4 year anniversary and a day that should be celebrated.; All I want to do right now is have her hold me while I cry and tell me that everything is going to be okay. I miss her so much.

I suspect my grief and the way I have been off lately is all about my mother. Seeing the nephew that caused me so much trouble with his betrayals this morning probably didn’t help either. I felt spiritually sick because I had no forgiveness in my heart for him. I wanted to leap up and beat him bloody. I don’t like feeling that way anymore, but I am not ready or able to let it go.

I have missed you everyday for six years Roy

and the nambi comes for us

not never for you anymore

having bitten for the final time

and you never to awaken

sleep beyond it and us

no more jones or dose

no hangover or headache

nor heartache or heartbreak

no more honesty and healing

you shot a whole right through

them all, with a bullet that

travels on and with ricochet

and wounds for all of us

left standing in the muck

no more laughter and love

no more confession or sex

nor arguement or cry for help

no more vision or cosmic feeling

we are without you now and now

more than ever the world seems

unkind and the streets uneven

as we don yet another black veil

to say ‘you cannot understand’

no more ancient wisdom and worry

no more world saving or beauty

nor power of love or forgiving

no more dreams or planning

you shot your whole through

these too, you see, it was not

all for you, but it was all with

you and in your absense it has already

begun the process of withering

no more cosmic muffin and doom

no more nut blessing or prayer

nor roy the goat, or the man

no more cosmic predisposition

what to say but that you failed

and in saying that; it follows

we failed too. Love and beauty

let us down or we did them, but

our journey ending with your gun

A Letter, Prayer, Whatever

Six years this year, your birthday just past on Sunday and the anniversary of your tragic departure is coming up in two weeks. The last few years, I kept arriving upon these moments when I thought I had made peace, “gotten over it”, you know? And there are days and times when I think of you and the pain is not so terrible, which I guess is why I can find myself under that impression. But always, always my friend, at some odd moment it will hit me, I miss you and I wish you were here. That bullet is still bouncing around in so many of us, and for most it is tearing stuff up still.

I wish you could  see me being a father, a real husband and I wish you could meet Kim and the boys. I have found the loves of my life and I can say it without cynicism or reservation, her and the boys are this magical light that has entered and changed me forever.  I wish you could see me sober and maybe have taken that journey with me. Mostly, I find myself today, having these moments when I just wish you were there to talk to, whether in person or on the other side of the phone. I spend some long quiet moments, often, remembering the sound of your voice and that deranged cackle of yours. I have moments where in my heart it is still unfathomable and impossible to process, refuses to register that you are gone and you will not be coming back.  There are cruel moments too, usually in the middle of some great joy or very early in the morning when I actually forget and I think about seeing you, telling you some story and I have to remind myself that you are gone.

I hear some people give your mom a hard time and M too, wondering why they aren’t over it by now. Six years, isn’t that long enough? Long enough to get over the loss of a son, or the father of your child? Anyone you loved?  Six years is a very long time and  I suppose I understand the outsider’s perspective and I realize that everyone grieves differently. I am trying not to judge those for whom the pain is gone.  The simple truth is that for some of us, there will be no getting over it, not in Six years, and not in Sixty. I looked down to see Jovu sitting in your sisters dining room and I thought I had taken a heart punch, that dumb little sculpture brought back such a flood memory. You, insane, painting the walls  of that doomed apartment and the furniture, determined that you would be an artist! I had dread locks and fleas, the cat used my bed for a litter box and we could have filled the pool with all the tequila we drank.  You’ll never paint again, or do yoga or cut someone’s lawn with scissors.

I am supposed to be writing from a perspective of gratitude and that is hard with this topic, especially to be honest about it. I am grateful though, grateful that I knew and loved you when you were here. I am grateful even, not for you demise, but for how it spun me far enough out of control that I had to find my way to my own grave or sobriety. I am not sure I would sober today if it weren’t for your going and shooting yourself, that said, your life is the one and only thing I would trade my sobriety for.

I am grateful that M is taking really good care of herself and your baby girl, I hope that you are watching over them and can see that amazing duo. I am very grateful that M has forgiven me for being a stupid ass after you died and for doubting her. We talk often and I would do anything she asked to help her and your daughter.

I am grateful that I have faith today, that I can believe you are out there somewhere in some form or another. That I believe these letters I write you mean something and that you somehow get them.

I miss you my friend, my brother.