I'm not in the best place right now, so be forewarned. And I would not recommend reading unless you are willing to be pulled into the depths of my emotion, turmoil, and despair. In my darkest hours, it seems that all I know to do is write. When peace is nowhere to be found, and sleep refuses to come, and my mind won't just shut down despite my best efforts to force it to-I write.

Yesterday was one of those days I had to just remind myself to breathe. I lost something-someone-important to me recently,and as I lie in bed last night, flashbacks from that first week last year began to haunt me again. Loss through death and in other ways is very different, don't misunderstand-but they do have their similarities.

It was one of those nights that it was just painful to be awake. The only peace that came was in the form of sleep, and then as I awaken- reality hits all over again. I fear I am facing another sleepless night again tonight. I keep waiting for that joy that comes in the morning, something good, that light at the end of the tunnel, and it seems I only face pain. In fact, I am tired of being strong and surviving. It gets old. Surviving is all I can muster sometimes, and actually living-well-that is exhausting.

I long to be my happy, fun self again. I daydream about getting my "old self" back, and I'm so afraid somewhere along the way...I lost her. I had an epiphany a few months back, something as simple as just being patient and kind to someone, and I thought to myself..Thank you God, she's still in there. She shows up every now and then. I do fear that I lost a part of me that day..And there is no doubt-I will always have a hole in my heart, because I will always always miss my brother.

As I sat at his grave today, I reflected on memories of us and our family. One in particular stands out, probably not much longer than a year ago, when Mom and I picked him up from the airport and we stopped by to eat somewhere on the way home. And I thought to myself..Just a year ago, he was sitting in front of me, and now I am sitting at his grave. What? Is that even possible? God give me strength, I cannot do this alone. I often think if I just had a shred of the courage, the bravery he had..I would be so much better off. And then I am filled with pride-I cannot understand how anyone, let alone someone in MY family, with my DNA, could have the kind of courage he had. They must think about their death constantly-many soldiers have told me they write letters to their families if they don't come home. How does one face every day, not knowing if it will be their last? Of course none can really KNOW that, but in a war zone, I'm sure, it is much more likely to dominate your thoughts.

There is a saying that time heals all wounds, and-as I've listened to "My Immortal" several times today-okay-over and over(a friend today said I am a dweller, and like to make bad situations worse-And I'm ashamed to admit that it's true), I've thought about a few of the words..

"These wounds won't seem to heal; this pain is just too real. There's just too much that time cannot erase.."

There's just too much that time cannot erase. And there is. Time cannot "heal" or erase this. Time hasn't even made it that much better. Sure, I can eat and sleep and bathe myself again, but I think about Evan today the same, if not more, than I have since his death. And you know? I think time heals breakups, and bad days, but not this. And I still think I'm shock-thus, I can't be "healing". Sometimes I have to say to myself "Evan's died" over and over again, in some futile effort to somehow have it make sense or believe it. But you know-I'm pretty sure it will never make sense, and maybe one day I will wake up and believe that he is gone, but right now, as I sit on the verge of the one year anniversary on January 28th, I still don't. It's hard to feel like some people are "over it", or have forgotten, because it still dominates me. And I know it's not true..but eventually, people stop calling and sending cards, and you start to think they have forgotten Evan ever existed.

And..I feel sometimes I am treated like an alien. Not on purpose-I realize people just want to help, and be there, and people that haven't been through loss can't possibly understand, and I realize that people think talking about it or listening to me about it is only going to make me upset, but it's not true. I am tired of people avoiding it or me or whatever it is they are avoiding. I've started to just say, you know what? It's ok to talk about Evan. I need to talk about it. It's actually good for me. Because when everyone avoids talking about it, I have no one to talk to but my therapist. And I love her, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I need help more than an hour every other week! But it is hard, when it is the "elephant in the room", that no one wants to talk about, and honestly, people just look at you funny.

I spent three hours at Evan's grave on Christmas Eve, because-and maybe this makes me crazy, but I didn't want him to be alone. I just couldn't bring myself to leave. I'm not sure how many of you saw it, but towards the end of 2008, the Athens Banner Herald published a special section called "The year in pictures". There I was(again), front and center, that picture that so many refer to as "beautiful", the one of me lying on Evan's casket. It certainly sums up MY year. There was also another article, entitled "Notable People We Lost in 2008", that I encourage everyone to look at-Evan is included, along with Eve Carson, and many other wonderful, amazing people that Athens lost last year. As I embark on the new year, my usual "resolutions" seem so inept. I'm pretty sure that, all these considered, January will be the worst month I've had in a good while. Maybe day to day survival is all I can muster to "resolve" to do this year-or at least this month.

I recently read a quote: "Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes it is a quiet voice at the end of the day saying, I'll try again tomorrow." And so it is. My grief overwhelms today; tomorrow, I will try again.