I’ve never wished I was someone else.
Often though, I wish I wasn’t me.
182 days ago, my best friend died. Every day since then has been a day of terrible discovery. I’ve learned things about myself. I’ve learned things about other people.
I wish that I didn’t take things personally.
I wish that I wasn’t observant.
I wish I wasn’t me.
I have experienced so much loss in the last six months.
As I say it, it sounds selfish. I have lost. It’s not particularly special or unique. Lots of people lose things. Lots of people experience challenges and adversity.
But I’m not a lot of people, I’m just me.
I wish I wasn’t.
It’s not all bad. It’s not all doom and gloom and highly depressing. I’ve had the opportunity to connect with amazing people and deepen relationships.
For that, I am intensely grateful. Y’all have been lifesavers.
The end for me is in sight. I’m almost done closing out her estate.
Then, I can send my final communications to those involved parties and move on to a new phase of my life where I get to set aside the rage of 10,000 firesides that has been powering me these six months, and settle into allowing myself to actually grieve and start to process this immense loss.
I spend most of my day teetering on the precipice of being inconsolably ineffective in completing the most basic of tasks and wildly productive, given how little sleep I get these past few months.
Attempts to forge new relationships have been wildly unsuccessful. And I struggle with not wanting to burden those who have their own battles.
When I met Kristen, I had just lost my mother, and was dealing with a rift with one of my oldest friends. It’s almost comical to have another cycle of losing a loved one, followed by the loss of fair-weather family and friends.
The experience of being seen, accepted, loved for who you actually are is a treasure. I’ve now lost it twice.
So even as I embark on this journey to give forgiveness for all of the travesties that I have endured in this whole affair.
I wrestle with ghosts.
She was someone that I admired. Someone I appreciated. Someone I loved.
I don’t wish I was someone else, but sometimes I really just wish I wasn’t me.