Well I feel like that anyway. It was rough… very rough. Not as rough as Vegas, but more destructive to my mental well being and disasterous to my reputation, social stability, general demeanor, and tore out the small amount of hope I had left of going forward.

I’m on a “leave” and I’m glad. I haven’t even been able to go to Safeway by myself but I toughened up the best I could, I ran across country, I tried my best to be my normal exuberant, motivated self, and I failed miserably. I  acknowledge and appreciate the patience and generosity that my company has given me, don’t get me wrong. But I’m so tired… I’m so messed up… and the old Niccole is gone. My life as I knew it is dead… gone…. done forever.

I came to the conclusion just as I challenged myself with this…. that I know I’ll never be the same. I know that I will never look at the world as it once was.  It will never be the same. I feel like I’ve been amputated. My heart has been torn open, gutted somewhat, and shoved back in my chest bandaged with thumbtacks and staples. With no pain relief.

The funny thing is, knowing I have no income or hope for financial stability, I really don’t care. I don’t care at all. I  have all I need. I have my beautiful girl, my priceless boyfriend who has went through pure hell, and his precious son.. I have my parents. I have my brother… I have my sweet nephews who I worry so much about. And I have people that are still coming to me honoring my sons existance with stories on how he changed their life.

I don’t care if I’m a success anymore career-wise. I soooo do not care. It brings no joy to me. All I ever wanted to accomplish is to raise my two babies into proud, wise, sensible, caring adults. Half of that dream was ripped away. I have one more chance to make it right. I have to focus on my girl. I love my Jazzy more than life itself and (always with both Jazzy and Taylor) I would throw myself in front of a train in a heartbeat if it saved them any hurt.

The stress of not having income anymore is not exactly helping me relax and recoup. I have a whole nother set of worries and fears now. Jazzy’s birthday is on the 21st and I’m trying to eat very little and be very reserved in my spending until I figure out what I’m going to do but it’ll be ok. I’ve been through the worst of the worst already. Nothing can really hurt me any worse than I hurt already.

I went to the doc this week and also the counselor. I shared with them thoughts I’ve had that have been extremely unhealthy but I “logically” know that I needed to do so. I think that my life is still…. eesh I’m blank. I don’t know what I was gonna say… “Worth living?”  I have to… I have no choice but to put on the clown makeup and go on with the best of my theatrics. I need to get better at acting. I need to ACT like I’m ok. I need to ACT like I really care if there’s a hair on my steak. I have to ACT like I care when someone rants about their bad dry cleaning experience or friend who is being rude. Sh*t doesn’t matter to me at all now. I gotta just function… like a robot.

I came home from Florida, LA, Seattle… and the whole drive home and I cried probably for a solid 4-6 hours. I sucked it up so much over a whole weeks time that I just blew. I do that… I blow up. I flip out. I’m in no shape to work. I’m in no shape to be of help to others in the capacity I’d like to be.  Anyway, I cry and cry and I’m SOOOOOO HAPPY to be home. I’m so happy to be in Dougs arms again. I’m so sad at the same time. I walk into the house and I smell the smell of death. I smell the downstairs where my son ended his life. I feel the despair in the air as I face what is the ultimate life punishment. Losing what means the most in life. Lost… .gone… done… finished. Goodbye.

I end up grabbing a knife… I gently open the purple velvet bag on the dining room table. I cut open the seal of the cardboard box….. I cut the plastic bag that is Taylor inside. I for just a quick moment. Just wanted to turn that knife around and ram it through my ribcage. I’m  not at the point where I want to “die”. But I think I’m at the point where I know that I don’t fear death. I don’t fear pain. I don’t fear anything. I simply don’t care. My boyfriend Doug, takes the knife and gets rid of it… I hate that I scare him like this so often. I wish I could be better for him. He needs me. HE NEEDS ME. No job needs me. HE NEEDS ME BACK. He doesn’t care if I’m the same. He loves me anyway. He would never turn his back on me and he would never ever ever ever tell me to “Get over it”.

So I reach in and scoop up some of Taylors ashes with my hands.  I take them and just rub them on my face as if I were scooping water out of the sink and rinsing soap off my face. It sounds disturbing, I know. But it isn’t crazy. I lost my baby. I was unable to keep our dreams alive. I will never have grandchildren from him. I really don’t even care about that. I lost the pride I had in myself for creating such a wonderful boy…. I just wanted to pull him through until he was as proud of himself as I was of him.

I have a strong feeling that my life is going to take a drastic turn. I may never come back into the work position I was in. I may never go to the places that gave me comfort. I may never really let people “in” because of the fear of losing even more. I really don’t know. But I know I need to rest. I have needed to rest and I have been pushing myself too far. Grief is a terrible thing for people to watch and it’s the most difficult thing to  hide.

It’s so impossible for me to relate to people the same. I think everyone is a shallow moron. My daughter thinks the same. Priorities are so different now. So so different.

I always knew that losing a child would be the worst thing that could happen. We all as parents KNOW that. But I swear on my life, I never thought it could be THIS bad. The only comfort I get, the only excitement, is hearing others stories. Other people who have lost, they flock to me and they know I can handle anything they have to share. I love it. They love it. We are a different  breed. We are all united… those of us who have lost. Lost to this horrendous magnitude.

I’m shocked to learn that the field of grief support is FAR from saturated. I will help others with grief no matter what the rest of my life. But again, I have to eat too. I am starting to lean this direction. We shall see. I don’t know what would be involved but I know that I understand loss, rejection, and abandonment more than the average person and there’s nothing I would love more than to help just ONE person… if not hundreds. I just haven’t figured it out yet. I need time.

I’m gonna hang low for a while. I’m gonna try to work on some web projects of our own in the meantime. I almost clocked my doctor the way he nodded his head like a bobblehead doll stuck to a dash on a rocky road when Doug asked him if I was eligible for disability. Funny stuff. I’m officially crazy. Actually he thinks I’m still “ok” and so does my counselor. I’m being honest as I can and I am finally accepting help more readily than I ever have. Some turn their backs.. the ones you would never think would do that to you. But some reach out. I know I need help and I’m going to get it. I’m going to bask in it. I have to.

Niccole