I met a lady on fb whose son was killed last year. We exchanged a few messages and I told her about my journal. I hope she doesn't read it. It will hurt too much. Just talking to her made me hurt too much. Looking at her fb pages, the dedications to her son, caused me such pain that I can't talk to her anymore. She needs her time, I need mine and we don't need to bleed on each other. We may share the same path but we have to keep from stepping on each other's toes. Maybe this is why I can't go to Compassionate Friends. It hurts too much. I have grown accustomed to the blanket over my head and heart, shielding me from truths. I tell myself little lies so it won't hurt too much. Keep myself busy, occupied so I don't think too much.
I hope she understands.
Now, back to NOT doing art, back to digging in the garden, cleaning out the house, and making my list.
Mary Mary I love you so. Been talking to Tony off and on. He's probably avoiding just like me. It gets us through the days. We hang on to each other.