It was Tracy's funeral today, and I have been unable to leave my bed ever since I got home. My dad has tried to bring me food, and I have nibbled on the corners of the bread, but I cannot eat, only sip on water. She wasn't supposed to die like this, as silly as that may sound coming from me. My mom died in a senseless way, and yet that doesn't feel the same. She just got sick, Tracy I mean.
And now she is dead, and I will never get to talk to her again.
I wish that I could provide something bright to light the world around me, to fight against the gloom but I just can't, not without hating myself. I feel like I deserve to feel like this, and I know deep down that it is probably the wrong reaction, or maybe there is no wrong reaction to all of this. All I know is I can't get over the fact I didn't call her, no matter the excuse, and that I wasn't able to see her when I had to say goodbye.
Her mom wouldn't let me come to the wake, and it was only at the funeral that I was finally able to say goodbye, as limp as it was. She was already in the ground before I was able to get to the graveyard. Traffic seemed to be conspiring against me, which is strange since I am less that ten minutes from the graveyard. But maybe it was fate, or the universe offering a hand to keep me from getting there on time, because if I did I am sure I would have torn her mother apart.
I just...I miss her so much right now, and I know that there is nothing I can do about that. I am going to miss Tracy, and I am going to be sour and angry at her mom for as long as I live. I don't want to live with that sort of anger, but I can't bring myself to pick up the phone and call her. Maybe part of it is I don't want to upset her family any more than they already are, but I think it is mostly because if I did, I don't think I could speak.
Speaking feels like it is the catalyst, the thing it would take for the dam to break, and if I started crying I don't think I could get myself to stop. I haven't even said a word to my father, not even to thank him for the food or the hot tea he brings me that I barely touched but he still replaces.
She was my best friend in the world, and I can't believe she is gone and that I will never see her again. Why does this hurt so much, and why does it hurt so much more than when my mum passed away? I think there is something wrong with me, feeling this way for a girl I didn't see nearly as much as I would have liked to. My mum was a constant in my life, and her death nearly tore my dad apart, but not me.
I stayed strong for him, and for myself, and yet here I am all these years later with another friend having passed away, and it's now that I manage to feel enough grief to keep me from leaving my bed.
When I was at the funeral, I had this want to climb into the grave with her, to reach down and start digging down through the loose earth until I arrived at my friend and we were finally able to be together again. As I stood there, looking down at the dirt, I could feel the urge welling up inside my, fighting against the numb feeling that seemed to have seeped from my skin into my bones. But I didn't, and that feeling has become a sort of phantom sitting at the back of my mind.
I want to be buried, not because I want to die, but because I want to feel alive. I want to feel alive with her.
I've thought about that dream I had, and the thinking about it has left me feeling sick. It has been raining for days now, and I haven't been able to keep anything down, even dad's rainwater cocktail, which he refused to finish without me. He is trying to be nice, but he just doesn't understand that I don't need him to put his life on hold for me.
That only makes me feel worse than I already do, if that is even possible.
If I think on it, I can feel the earth under my fingers as I run my hands over my sheets. It's a cold, moist dirt that grips into my skin and clumps together like it is trying to take a form. I can feel the sensation of my hands plunging through the earth, the cold wetness slowly seeping into my arms, a chill hitting my spine well before my hands can feel it.
It would be like taking a swim, as easy as falling into water. That is how I imagine it, how it feels when I close my eyes and let my mind wander to places outside of the pit in my stomach.
I have tried listening to the storm, and I have found a small amount of pleasure in it. I opened my window and let me hand dangle limply, the rain pitter pattering on my skin. Every time it would strike a finger, that big heavy rain, my finger would twitch involuntarily, like electricity applied to the nerves of a dead body. I wonder at what point a body stops being able to be influenced by electricity, at which point the nerves and tissues are too badly damaged to sustain the charge in any reasonable way?
Maybe if I dug up Tracy, I could apply electricity to her, and she will wake up long enough for me to say goodbye.
Maybe I am really hurting, and thoughts like those only leave me feeling worse.
I hope things are well with you, and I am sorry to be throwing all of this your way. I just need to get it out somewhere, and I guess you are the only person who I feel I can direct it to without immediately getting a response.
I don't think I need a response. I just need someone to listen to me, just listen and nothing else.
Well maybe not nothing else.
I didn't get a letter from you last week. Please write me again.