Survivor’s Guilt

Some days there are moments when it just hits like a truck, when you don’t think that you can fight anymore because you’ve been fighting for so long. It is in those moments when you need the person that you miss most, the one you can’t have back because they are gone, that nothing else matters, that nothing else helps.

He used to say that everything would be okay because we had each other. It didn’t matter how angry the world made us, because we knew how to calm each other down. Now, I may be painting a better picture than what really happened, what everyone else saw because they didn’t see us when we were alone. But, that’s what happens when someone dies. You can’t bring yourself to admit all the wrong that they did because you never want to remember them like that.

It’s called survivor’s guilt. Feeling like something is wrong, like we are guilty because we lived and they died. Feeling like  your life will never be enough to make them proud because you are here and they aren’t. You paint this perfect picture of them in your mind, this high standard that you have to live up to because if not, the pain is too much and you don’t know how to move forward. You have this standard of perfection, because you think this is how you honor them, by doing everything you said you would when they were alive and more.

Striving towards perfection is the only way you know how to keep going, keep pushing for the life that you always wanted. You know, I always thought that I could understand why people who were widowed find their own happiness later on, how they can remarry and be okay. Now, I can’t, I just don’t understand. Even when I was in a happy and loving (more or less) relationship, I could never place that person above him in my head, because he was perfection. That tore at my relationship, because how can you live up to the expectation of a dead guy. Someone who can never do any wrong because they are gone. It’s simple, you can’t.

Maybe that’s my fault, maybe that’s why I will never truly be happy, or maybe I’m just cursed to be alone. Whatever the reason, right now it just hurts too much. He’s gone and I don’t know what to do when I feel so overwhelmed. I used to just press a button, he’d answer and hear my tears and know to come running. Now everyone wants to talk it out, when I just want to cry. What use is therapy when the only worlds I can get out are the ones that are ripped from my throat in a scream, a cry for help from something unseen.

I can’t get through it, but I keep trying. One day I know I will be able to break free. That hope is what keeps me going, that one day I will reach perfection even if it is just for a moment. But until then, this is me screaming someone please help me! Because I can’t talk, I can’t cry, I can’t break down in a world that just tears you down the moment it notices weakness. So instead, I wait, and I work and I write. I write it all down so that someone somewhere will read it and realize they are not alone. That they are going through it with me. So, to all my brothers and sisters out there with survivor’s guilt, we will get through this. One moment at a time, one step at a time, we will work through the pain and find happiness once again. It may take a while, but we will get there. Just be patient.

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