Dear Scott,
I try not to think about you. I know if you were still alive this would sound cruel. But don't worry - it doesn't work. But I am very good at not talking about you. I know it's an unhealthy coping strategy, but it's really the only way for me to make it through each day. I will often accidentally start a story about you; I have learned to cut myself off quickly. You are always here, yet always gone.
I've spent most of the last two days feeling sorry for myself. Yes, feeling sorry for me, not you. You don't get to have my worry about the future. You don't get to have my shattered dreams. You don't get to have my financial anxiety. You don't get to have input on my life now. You took everything else; these things belong to me.
I read a poem today that captures how isolated I feel, even though I am surrounded with so much love, from so many people. Not sure who wrote it.
I am a survivor of suicide loss, a
Zebra among horses; distinct from
Those who have lost a loved one by
Other means. I feel separated from
The herd, corralled by such loss.
I do not grieve the same as you.
My challenges are very different. I
Cannot respond to things as you do,
And nothing anyone can do or say
Can remove this pain from my heart
Or the questions from my mind. My
Grieving process is complicated, it
Has added stripes.
I am a zebra among horses. I may
Appear to be like you, but inside
The differences are as marked as
The stripes that distinguish a zebra
From a horse. This knowledge that
I am different wears on me like a
Heavy, ill-fitting saddle.
I am a zebra among horses; I am
Like you, yet not like you.
