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GhostofLight

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  • Content count

    25
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About GhostofLight

  • Rank
    Member

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    New York
  • Loss Type
    Widower
  • Angel Date
    3/28/17

Converted

  • Occupation
    Media
  • Last Name
    Walsh
  • First Name
    Kieran
  • Zip
    10003
  1. Next Week

    If God has any mercy at all tonight I'll die in my sleep.
  2. Next Week

    Is suicide really so awful? I mean, I already know how this story ends. Why wait?
  3. Next Week

    Hello Friends, Well, I did it. Sort of. The visit home started reasonably well. I was in a decent mood and kind of enjoyed the simplicity - the way each day unfolded: Who's making the coffee? What's on the news? Where are we taking Mom for dinner? But slowly I started to feel the resentment welling up. Nobody asked about me. Not even in a perfunctory way. I think it's hard for them to imagine what this loss has been like, and it's especially tricky because they never even met my boyfriend (who passed away in March) so they don't really have a reference point. But it would've been nice to hear something... even if it was just: "How are you holding up?" or "I know you've been through some **** and I'm sorry." We didn't need to talk about it for hours - just an acknowledgement. One other thing I should cover here is the fact that I'm a gay man, grieving the loss of another gay man (well, two, actually). That probably hasn't been clear up to now. At any rate, my family is pretty tolerant and accepting, but old fears still lurk in the shadows. Would they take my pain more seriously if it had been a woman? If I had a child would they care more? Do they talk about me with friends and distant relatives, or am I "just fine?" And that awful, creeping realization that their lives are moving on, progressing. Not perfect because nothing ever is - but nonetheless real lives. Lives that still have some possibility for genuine happiness. Lives that might bear some resemblance to their dreams. Meanwhile, my life is, for all intents and purposes, over. To a certain extent I don't blame them. Who wants to speak with a corpse in their living room? I got hit by a tidal wave of emotion. Cried in my room and felt suicidal for the first time in a while. I decided to leave a day early because the stress was just too much for me to handle. I felt like I might burst into tears if anyone so much as asked me for a section of the newspaper. There's a Verve lyric: "I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me." I suppose it's like that from now on. I'd much rather be hanging out with you guys, simply because you KNOW. You get it. We will likely never meet in real life but I love all of you for that. So I left a day early. Came back home to my empty apartment. Had a long phone conversation with my late boyfriend's niece (we're very close now) and talked about the life that might have been. Marriage. A home. Cuddling. Support and devotion. Joy and togetherness. All the things that are no longer possible. It would've been great.
  4. "How long do I have to be here?"

    * Hugs * Yup. I know exactly what you mean. I smoke now. Never did before. "It's really bad for you." Mmmm, okay? You mean I'm going to lose a whole three years of this miserable existence? GOSH I'LL THROW THESE CIGARETTES AWAY RIGHT NOW. Punished... but for what? In the American legal system at least, there's great emphasis on whether the accused is mentally fit enough to stand trial... it's crucially important because, among other things, they have to understand why they're being judged... why they're being sentenced. Otherwise, what's the point? If I did something wrong... ****. Please tell me what it was. What did I do? Help me make sense of it all so that I can atone, at least. Help me understand. Help me understand. There is something to understand, right? If there isn't, this just seems cruel. God's silence isn't always laudable.
  5. Any fellow Doctor Who fans here? For the uninitiated, Doctor Who is a long-running British science fiction program about an enigmatic time-traveler known, simply, as "The Doctor." There was an episode a few years back where the Doctor finds himself trapped in a kind of spooky castle... relentlessly pursued by a faceless creature... In a moment of self-reflection, the Doctor wonders if he's in hell: "I'm not scared of hell. It's just heaven for bad people. But... how long do I have to be here?" That quote, that question, seems to sum up my existence (life is too generous a word) now. I do things. Pay bills. Fold laundry. Brush my teeth. I go to work. I fight back tears when I'm on public transportation. I joke with people at work to make sure that they feel comfortable around me. Ha ha. Yes... this might be hell. Sure feels like it. I'm 45. I'm somewhere in the middle. Stuck in the middle. All of my receptors are burnt out. I can't enjoy things. I don't feel ambition. I don't even worry about the future anymore. If there is a future I'd rather not be in it. It's tearing me apart. I just don't understand. God can do anything he wants to me, but why did he have to be so cruel to the person I loved? Why? Why?? W-- I must have been a horrible person in another life. I'm in hell. Armed with nothing but memories of happiness that seem to mock me. Perhaps I deserve this. Okay, fine. But the question lingers: How long do I have to be here?
  6. Next Week

    Ashley, You're so very kind. I greatly appreciate your checking in like this. Bless you. Yes, I'm going. Catching a train tomorrow evening and staying with Mom and the family through Labor Day. Not sure what to expect, but... Mom is turning 84, and I know how precious every moment is. Hopefully it won't be too difficult. This is the first time in a while I've seen my family in person. I dunno. I might be charming or I could burst into tears. I miss my love so very much.
  7. Next Week

    Next week I have to go home for a visit with the family. It's my mother's birthday. I'm really dreading it. Dreading being around them. Having to make small talk about the most inane stuff. Hearing about their happy lives. And, worst of all, hearing about God and how wonderful he is. I dunno. I'm tempted to just cancel. What's the point of associating with people anymore?
  8. My Bed is My Favorite Place

    What I want now, more than anything, is sleep. Eternal sleep. Maybe when I sleep I'll dream and I can find him again.
  9. My Bed is My Favorite Place

    Does anyone else feel this way? Bed. Especially at night. I can pretend he's still here with me. I whisper to him. Tell him how much I love him. There are times when I can almost feel him there with me. His skin. His breath. The way his nose wrinkles when he smiles. If I can hug him just right I'll be able to keep him. This time he'll stay. But then I wake up. The other thing about bed is sleep... and I can always hope that this will be the last time. Maybe I won't wake up.
  10. Never Ending Pain

    Not much to say here, except I'm truly sorry for your loss.
  11. Want to share my experience.

    Bradley, so much of what you say sounds like my own internal monologue... it's eerie. I know exactly how you feel. Truly. At this point I'm like a prisoner in a cell. A **** and piss factory. One day after another. How long do I have to wait? I've already lost the game, so there's isn't much point in playing. I'm only here out of obligation to other people. If nothing else, I suppose I know the truth about life... and certainly about God. He really dropped the mask. I know what he really is now. There's no going back. A number of people have recommended "A Grief Observed" to me, but, given the author, I can only assume it ends with him capitulating in some way: "But, in the final analysis, isn't God swell?" Like a battered housewife or something. Erm, no. I don't think God is swell.
  12. I Used To Love Dogs

    Yes. I think about this stuff constantly. I suspect that, if you're thinking about something, you're basically looking for answers. It's like working on a crossword puzzle or a Rubik's cube. If you can just line up the right squares or figure out that missing word it will all fall into place... and then you'll have the answers you've always wanted. You'll know why your love is gone. You can't necessarily bring them back, but you'll have an explanation. And, of course, throughout history there have been enormously clever individuals who have worked at the puzzle, and even claimed to have solve it. BUT there's no way to actually prove anything has been solved. We can theorize, but that's about it. The important thing to remember is... this stuff can drive you mad. Literally mad. I've been meditating a lot and trying to find ways to... stop working on the puzzle. It's difficult because, to a certain extent, it's giving up control. It's an admission that I can't possibly solve the riddle, so I'm not going to torture myself with attempts to do so. It certainly takes practice. I'm getting better at it. It's like that old saying, "you have to be comfortable with being uncomfortable." Something like that.
  13. I Used To Love Dogs

    You're very welcome. Yes, God is an asshole... but he's not as clever as he likes to think. By helping one another, we outsmart him.
  14. I Used To Love Dogs

    I hear you, brother. I feel exactly the same way. (Hugs.) But I also feel sort of crummy about some of the things I said previously... not that I didn't mean them, but I'm also conscious of how my mood can affect other people. Venting is good, but I don't want to push other people deeper into despair. Especially not here. I am not my thoughts. I am the space between my thoughts. Tonight I played the piano. A lot. My fingers hurt. Can't quite figure out the intro to "Changes." It's in C, obviously, but there are some weird chords in there. David was like that. What can I lose myself in? What can you lose yourself in? "See the dwarves and see the giants. Which one would you choose to be?"
  15. Lurker

    Grief is... unpredictable to say the least. I thought I was doing well until this past weekend when it hit me like a thunderbolt. This site has helped tremendously. You are welcome here. You are needed here. All I can figure is that it's a force to submit to. You can't outsmart grief. You can't postpone it. You can't reason it away. You have to let it be. There's no schedule, only feeling.
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