What a Week

David is dead. Every time I think of the finality of that, it makes me cry harder than I probably already am. I think of normal things like what I have at Jerome's apartment and then i think of David's room, now empty of everything. That really gets me, too. how would you like to live in an apartment where a kid killed himself? I don't know that I would, honestly. And I'm sure that apartment will stay empty for a while because legally the complex has to own up to it.

I think, as far as the stages of grief go, I'm kind of hovering in between depression and anger. To be honest, I'm pissed beyond belief that David did this. Why didn't he talk to someone? Anyone? What the hell was wrong with him that we didn't notice? Why would he choose a path so selfish and leave everyone behind in so much pain? And how the hell do you muster up the courage to pull a trigger on a gun or swallow an excessive amount of pills or slice your wirsts or jump off of a bridge or however else people kill themselves, knowing that it is the last thing you will ever do? And I'm mad that the funeral is during our Easter festival. hasn't he interrupted our lives enough? I need that escape and now I don't have it.

But maybe that is selfish on my part. I want to be there, of course, to pay respects and to be with my family. I need to be there. But I need to be able to do something just for me, too. Something not related to suicide and David and funerals.

Jerome is not doing too well with everything. He never talks about anything. He blew up yesterday at stuff his mom was doing and vented about it to me, which was god; at least he was blowing off some steam, however misdirected it was. He needed to oget soemthing out. It's this that angers me most of all. The mourning of everybody. I know people all mourn differently. I prefer to cry about it. But Jeroome keeps it bottled in. And I'm not pressuring him to talk about it right now because he needs some time to process and adjust, but I hope that he will talk to somebody. Anybody. Me, Sue, his mom, a girl at work, Christina. God would be great, too, but sometimes you need that physical contact: a hug, an arm around you. SOmeone saying, "I know it hurts, but it will be alright."

Things may never be normal again; we'll begin to go on living our lives and while we won't forget David, his memory won't be quite as vivid or painful as it is in these last few days. I just hope that eventually, somehow, with the help of God, it will be alright.