Nicole Whitney

A Pain Time Can´t Heal

It never seems real. Not the first minute you hear the news, not four months later. People will tell you that time will heal your pain; to hang in there it will get better. But it doesn’t. Everything reminds you off him. It’s like you can’t think clearly for even a second. Your mind is constantly reminding  you of something you will never have again, never  hold again, never see again.  Yet you don’t believe it, and when you think about it, that maybe it is true, that people really do, really can go away forever, well that’s when the panic sets in, sheer hysteria. It starts in the pit of your stomach, ripping and tearing its way into your heart until it finds its way to the back of your throat and sits there and grows, a giant lump making it hard to swallow and clenches at your chest until you cant breathe. You want to scream, shout get someone’s attention, tell them you’re not strong enough, you can’t do it. But you don’t.  Everyone else seems fine, maybe your just weak. Besides, what would they say? How can they make it any better.  Nothing is gonna bring him back. Nothing.  And what would they say if you told them how you really felt? How sometimes life doesn’t seem worth living. When things get really hard you just wish it would end. Now that would really freak them out. Its not like your suicidal. You enjoy life. But its how you feel, it’s on your mind, but if you mentioned it everyone would think your crazy, depressed. You mentioned it once, said death doesn’t seem so bad now, and they told you to not talk like that, they would miss you to much, how they couldn’t live without you.  Hmm. How come they can’t place themselves in your shoes. Isn’t that exactly what it feels  like to you?
Your life gets split into to parts. Before the accident and after.  Pictures are the easiest to tell. Just look in the eyes, the sparks gone. Don’t believe me? Look at the smile, a fool could see its forced. I guess it’s not always bad. No, days will go by, even a week or two, when your happy you can look back on him and smile. Make jokes, even look forward to your future. But don’t let it fool you, the pain comes back. Like a wave, that crashes on a shore, it hits hard.  A raw searing pain, that hits again and again. Now that I think about it, it gets worse. Its like a cut that’s about to heal, but each time the tissue begins to fix itself it gets torn open.  Again and Again. Even if it does get to mend, it will leave a scar, a constant reminder of the hurt, something that no amount of time could possibly repair.  For me, I just don’t accept it.  If I don’t believe hes gone then maybe I’ll wake up. Maybe one day it will be possible to go back in time. Maybe. Ha theres something that will eat you alive. The what ifs. The regrets.  You’ll loose your mind dwelling on those, but everyone does it. You can’t help it. Sometimes I like to replay scenes. Like take a memory, and imagine what I would do if I could go back in time, what I would have said.
Is it bad that sometimes I hate him? How can you just leave someone you love? Cause them so much pain and not even say goodbye. He told me he was invincible. Ironic I know.  He was the only person I could call in a fit of tears and not be ashamed or embarrassed. I could tell him everything, and never feel like he would  look down upon me for it. It feels like the floor just disappeared from underneath me and I’m just falling.  I see the name written in black ink on my bracelet, but it means nothing. Its just letters, some kids name. No, its not him, not my Stephen.  Not the one that laid in my bed, that I stayed up till four in the morning talking on the phone till I fell asleep. Not the person that when I hugged I felt like I never needed to let go, the one person that made me feel like I was special. I often wondered why we became so close so fast, how amazing it all was. God was I blind, so dumb. It was all there for me to see. Everything so clearly laid out. But I missed it. Every sign.


Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf vom Autor eingeschickt Nicole Whitney.
Veröffentlicht auf am 28.04.2008.


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