I thought perhaps I would write. Not that I expect any answers, just that I am here alone with walls and while they listen pretty well, it does not help much. I hate to write because it sounds like I am a pathetic ole man and I will never be that. But I do have some struggles. Maybe you can relate to some of them.
I am so tired of living. I think I have lived to long and lost all value to anyone. This time of year I have so many thoughts. It was a Monday after Thanksgiving that my father killed himself. The last member of my family, my son died last year. I have been waking up at night awakened by my own screaming as I again see my son in the morgue, the blood on his face, the tubes........... nevermind the details due not matter.

I have a little worth at work where I listen to the young people who seem to view me as a grandfather figure. I hear their stories many of which are tragic. I know there secrets and pains and losses. And I carry them with me and they weigh me down. I have my own burdens which I keep to myself. In fact that was what led me to EP.

Yesterday I knew what awaited the parents as they go into the homes alone and see the presents and............... I know the pain that hits a parent and drives them to the floor to lay there unable to move, the tears flowing, the dry crying after the tears quit, the lead ball in the middle of the stomach that is like a black hole pulling everything into it. And I cried and cried for those parents. And I felt even more useless.

I know the strength you had to accomplish what you have survived. I know my own strength. But I am reminded of a strong cottonwood by the creek when I was growing up. When the winds came, the weak willows would bend down into the water. And the strong cottonwood would stand alone resisting the winds. Then one year a tornado came and the weak willows bent before the wind. When it was past, the willows were again standing and the strong cottonwood was broken and gone forever. I am starting to feel like the cottonwood.  I am not quite sure why I am writing this. I have stood strong for so long. I have been the one there for others.

I know some of you I might write indiviually I cannot. I am not sure why I am writing this. Maybe I am trying to bend and just reach out and make contact with another person to share what is really in me that I have to keep so hidden from those around me. Maybe I think that even though our lives have been so different you might understand and care.

Thank you for your time and consideration.
demorcan demorcan
61-65, M
1 Response Dec 15, 2012

I'm crying for you. I feel, what I know must be only a tiny fraction, of your pain and it feels raw and savage.
Please know even the most battered, the most fragile can remain strong and steadfast with a little support. And know that if you choose it, my friend, you'll find that support in me. xxxx