Day two of grief. Intermittent crying, writing. Drinking hot chocolate with egg nog and weed to soften my sorrow for the next few hours while my brain figures out how to frame this trauma.
I can't wish I never met him, because it was beautiful. He helped me cope with grief and made me feel special and we had fun. I regret not communicating better while I had the chance. I ask for his forgiveness every hour. Every thought in my mind is a silent conversation with him. Can you hear me R? I did not consent to this goodbye. Please know you were loved, Pretty-Eyes. I'll never ever forget you.
One good thing about the way grief is appearing for me, is that it is propelling me to reach out to humans.
I may never again feel safe telling anyone I want to just be friends, even though I guess his death isn't my fault, it takes years of alcoholism to develop cirrhosis of the liver, but... If he had felt loved by me, would that have kept him breathing? I really feel like the absence of love killed him, even though people tell me it wasn't my fault. More likely I met him at the end of his life, to see him out of this lifetime.
I listen to every podcast about grief, seeking wisdom. It's common for loved ones to feel guilt and regret and if-onlys... I'll keep trying to tell myself this until I believe it. I fucking love you, R. More than you ever knew.
5:41 p.m. - 2022-10-25