Talking

Yesterday was a William day. I cried and cried, then I talked, then I cried some more. It started with trying to find a copy of where he’d pawned his Rolex. Not only did I find that I found our marriage certificate and the incident report from the morning of his suicide. This brought up so many feelings. I feel as though I’m going backwards instead of forwards. I’m having a real hard time coping and I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back to a mental institution. They don’t really help anyway. I don’t think my meds are right but my Dr won’t give me what I know works. I’m spiraling. I’m shaking all the time. I cry at just a thought. I’m so tired all the time. I barely sleep even with meds. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you. It’s supposed to be therapy. I want to run. Run far away. Never look back. But I can’t. The only reason I don’t is my daughter. If it wasn’t for her I would have followed right behind William. I wish someone could truly help me. But for now at least I’m talking…