i didn't lose it in a fire or something. it's so stragne to know you ruined your life for no reason, except going a bit crazy from years of stress.
I found that I could write whole chapters, spanning time called: How I Blew It.
Oh I lost it all to the fire. My daughter screaming over the phone to get out, her father doing NOTHING, reading magazines. I lost: everything and then more. I lost not only every single possession you claimed had value, I lost the notes. The notes that constitute Why I Existed Mostly. My existance now is nearly meaningless, in comparison to what it was in that before place. Because of the ME, I could not save us. Nor could I even conceive How I would save us. It was all I could do to get my husband into a car and drive away from my life.
In the before place, I had some value. Today, I'm - nearly invisible in the world.
I live with having lost my own son, and I know its my fault. I live with that, every single day.
I was so sick, with the ME when I had to go see my mother and I returned home covered in ME misery and she had the audacity to enter hospice three weeks later.
My mother died alone, and I was not there and I have to live with it. I think about that- probably every week. And my only brother got there and stayed three hours. I have to think about : that. How could he have: betrayed his own mother like that? And I love my brother.
We carry grief. We are grief horders. So put it into your back pack and step forward and Try Again.
Something will happen, and it will be Ok because you'll keep working to make it somehow OK.