How do you say happy birthday to a dead man?
It helps to raise a toast, tell a funny story, or even just say his name.
David O'Farrell. You were alive once and the centre of my universe.
You were real.
Our life together was real.
He would have been 41 this year.
Maybe it's all the drug changes and messing around with my brain chemistry but this year his birthday was so goddamned hard. And I fucking hate the platitudes....still.
I guess maybe I'm still angry.
I just want him back. Two and half years later and it still seems like such a bad dream. I know some people must feel that I'm stuck in my grief and not moving on.
Fuck 'em. This is my fucking journey. Get back to me when you've lost your soulmate...when you've had to bear the strain of the world falling apart around you all the while doing everything you can to keep him going through his despair, his fear, his all encompassing anger. My shoulders bore so much while he was sick. People supported me where they could be so much was mine, and mine alone to bear. And I would still do it gladly if only he was still here.
Get back to me when you have to stroke your soulmate's hair and hold him as he dies suffering gasping for breath and trying to scream but he can't.
I just want him back.
I swear I would bear that and so much more if he was still here.
He did not deserve to suffer and die so young.
It should have been me.
But now he's gone...dead at 38 and life makes no sense without him.
I live with 2 people I love and laugh with but there is still this pervading sense of wrongness in everything.
I've been in therapy for a year and have made great strides only to fall back into a helluva relapse lately.
I felt like I was ready to break the whole time he was sick. But I just kept on going because I loved him and he needed me.
Now I don't know what to do.
I'm trying to use my new tools for coping. I'm trying to have empathy for myself.
I'm trying to remember that "a relapse is only a reminder of how far you've come".
I wish I believed that I would be with him again someday but I just don't believe in heaven.
Unfortunately hell is all too real.
I am a baker that does not bake.
I am a writer that does not write.
I am an artist who does not create.
I am alive but I do not live.
This is all just a purge.
A pressure valve releasing.
I miss him so much.
I wish I could bake you a birthday cake and you could blow out your candles.
I wish I could turn around and see you there smiling at me.
I wish I could hold you again.
May 26, 1971-Dec.21,2009
You will never be forgotten.