Day 57

I’ve resolved to stop whining; it annoys me more than anyone else. Other people make allowances when your child dies. I know that I could do better but have chosen not to.

I’ve never had any patience for whining. Once, after Constance complained that I’d cut her off at one pizza, I regrettably said, “You literally have no problems.” It is a good thing I didn’t have a fact checker following me around responding to my idiotic parental declarations. Constance definitely had problems, serious health problems. Sometimes, I want to go back in time so I can punch myself in the face. [It's funny, I still feel that way.]

In addition to whining, I’m going to stop my physically self-destructive behavior. For me, it is drinking and eating too much. People keep telling me many people drink or eat too much for far less worthy reasons than having a dead child.

I can’t control if I have a child, a job, a house, a car, a relationship, or even my life. If the only thing I can control is whether I drink myself into unconsciousness, then I might as well control it.

I will continue feeling total suffocating despair for Constance. It is there now. That will probably always be there. It will continue to hold my head underwater, burn my sinuses, blacken my vision, and turn off my mind.

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