I took the day off work and checked out. I got through the day - the weekend - by not being present. I don't know if that was wise, but it worked.
I don't want to blog, I don't want to journal, I don't want to talk.
I'm alone in this. Nobody cares. I have nothing left but anger. Anger that he had to die young. Anger that I'm alone in this and in life. Anger at the people who take their loved ones for granted. Anger at my parents for not teaching me how to cope. I think that I might be the strongest person I know. I am also unhappy, emotionally immature, and full of rage. I get up in the morning and I get through each day. I do what I have to do, then I go home alone. Strong doesn't mean shit. i don't want to be strong; I want to feel complete.
