Day 244

I don’t know how “normal” people behave in any situation. I just see how I act and then ask myself, “Was that as weird as the expression on that person’s face made it seem?” I presume the answer is yes, shrug, and move on to my next uncomfortable exchange. I am like if a cringe could cringe like a cringe squared.

Stop telling me I’m “strong,” for not having killed myself yet. For possibly the hundredth time, a close friend told me I was, “incredibly strong.” I looked her in the eyes, shook my head, and said, “Why would you say that?” She replied earnestly, “You’ve lost your entire life this year. You have nothing and yet you’re still here.” Me, “Here in Chicago?” Her, “Yes but, here alive. It is incredible.” Is simply breathing my superpower?

Being a true witness to grief is like looking directly into the sun; it is a burning pain that can permanently damage you.

Years ago, my mother told me an expression: “You’re only ever as happy as your saddest kid.” I think that’s probably true. I don’t know what that means for someone whose only child died. Perpetual loss and emptiness, I would assume.

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