9 Weeks

Tomorrow marks nine weeks that I have lived without Storm.  It seems like forever and yesterday somehow at the same time.

I went to get the gun today.  I have felt compelled to do so since the first day.  I thought hard today about my own motivations; why would I want it back?  I decided it's because I refuse to make a demon out of an object.  It's a thing...an object, nothing more.  No demons can live in it...no memories are "attached" to it.  It is simply a gun...a means of home defense.  Also, Storm would not want the county to get his gun. 

I cried when I cleaned it.  The evidence bags seemed so cold and had his real first name on them, and lots of warnings about chemical and biological contamination.  I cleaned it...then carefully loaded the clip, and put the whole thing away on a shelf.  I'm sure I will never fire it again unless it is needed for self-defense. 

Even considering the crying, and I'm going to cry regardless, I am relieved that I did it.  It was the last of the "death business" that I have to manage, and from here I can, I hope, start emotionally moving forward.

I move out of here within the next month...I hope.  My home purchase has been approved...all that's left is the home inspection and closing.  Please pray it is the fastest closing ever.  I cannot get out of here fast enough. 

I wish I knew how better to deal with my anger.  It just sits inside of me, and comes out in spits and spurts of yelling at the dogs, and being mad at traffic, but I know that's not what I'm mad at.  I'm angry that this man destroyed our lives over a freaking fight.  I'm angry that I am so bitter and frustrated.  I'm angry that all of my hopes and dreams were taken from me in an instant, and that all I have left is to pick up the pieces and try to build...something out of them.  I'm angry at myself for my bitter words that night, for my anger and my part in it.  I'm so angry that our last memories together are so colored with this.  I am so angry that he left me with no more resistance than a shrug. It was so easy for him.

 Anger is not native to me.  I don't know what to do with it.  All that I can do is just keep moving, and trying to heal. 

I see the confusion on the faces of my family and friends when it leaks out.  I can see that they are struggling with how to cope with it.  I can see they think that I am angry for that moment, or angry at them,  and they want to see me smile, they want to soothe me.  They don't understand that the anger is there hiding behind that smile.  It's in every confused decision, every productive day, every tear, ever moment.  I never DON'T feel angry.  Ever.  I wish I could hate Storm.  At least that would give the anger a direction...a focus.  Instead, it's just like radiation that I leak a little here and a little there and leave a little bit of unhappiness behind.

I miss the peace loving hippy lady I used to be.  That lady was smart, and confident, and capable, and strong, and oh, so happy.  I see her smiles in my memory.  I see her beautiful sunny days and green gardens and beautiful flowers, and I am jealous of her through the looking glass of time.  I wish I could step through that memory back to her, back to being held in the arms of the man who filled her world with love.  I can't, though.  That would make me an imposter, because that peace loving happy hippy lady died with Storm, and I don't know this angry, broken, bitter bitch he left behind.  All I know that happiness is way beyond my reach, and I don't want destroy what's left of my life with bitterness and anger and hurt.