I keep expecting her to call.
I know what that means. I have not yet come to terms with my best friend’s death. I don’t know that I ever will. It hasn’t “hit me” yet. I keep hearing that it gets better over time. I don’t think so. Not this time.
I loved her more than anyone else on this earth. That’s saying a lot. I loved her more than my family. She was my family. I love a lot of people, and a select few have a very special place in my heart. In my soul. She was one of them. I’ve known that about her for as long as I have known her, and have been perfectly happy to just go on keeping her there. Even when she hurt me, or told me something I did not necessarily want to hear.
I have felt sadness before. I’ve known depression. It’s my constant companion, never leaving my side for an instant, just sometimes keeping so quiet I forget it’s there. Right now, both are screaming in my ears. To the point that I cannot hear, see, or focus on anything else. Some mornings, it’s all I can do to not just get out of bed, move to the couch, turn on the television, and sleep the rest of the day. And that only to keep from crying all the time. I’ve tried to ignore my feelings, and just move forward, but I can’t seem to manage. I’ve begun eating again. Eating and not giving a damn about what or how much. Eating to the point that I feel like vomiting, but I can’t seem to do that either. I just don’t care.
Perhaps writing all this down will help, but my fear is that it won’t, or that it will make me feel worse than I already do. She always encouraged me to write, because she said she loved my way of stringing words together. She was my constant supporter, no matter how poorly I did. Writing is not my favorite thing to do. The fact that I avoid doing it until I can’t any longer is probably a symptom of some other psychological issue that I wish we could have talked about. I wish we could talk about something now. Anything. Anything at all.
Right now I’m rambling. My thoughts are incoherent. My mind is messed up. I should go outside and do something other than spend money, but I always did that so I’d have something to tell her when we talked again. I have the urge to do the things she would have done, because we always enjoyed the same stuff, but my body does not want to move in any of those directions, and my will is not powerful enough to overcome it right now. Everytime I see something that I know I would enjoy I can’t help but think, “Cece would LOVE that. I should call her and tell her about it today.” Everytime. And then I lose all interest and just want to go home and weep.
Sometimes, I take some comfort in knowing that there are others on this earth who have similar feelings about her. Just knowing I am not the only one going through this is enough to get me on my feet. Most of the time, it isn’t.