I just came to work. I didn't know what else to do. I don't really want to be here, but I think home would just be depressing. Well, it's all depressing. But I didn't want to be alone, and I still hear a voice telling me that no one cares and to shut up and get over it. So I didn't want to ask anyone to come over, just to keep me company. So work it is.
Once I thought I'd love to not have to go to doctors appointments every week, multiple times a week. Now I'd give it all up, just to have that time back to spend with him. Nurses, reapplying wound vacs... all of it. I miss him every day.
They say that time heals all wounds. They lie. It doesn't - it just makes it easier to carry them.
Everything here is hard and bright and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch. This is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that. Knowing what I've lost.