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The true reality of grief is hard to pin down. Grief is not sleeping for days and nights infinity. No end to the undescribable sadness; no words to express the depth of searing pain that rips through the heart and soul constantly. I once heard through this very black journey of mine that i should accept grief "gracefully. With dignity. Any sense of dignity flew out the window long, long ago.

Let me be blunt if I may. The faint of heart should stop reading right now.

I have not bathed or brushed my teeth in over a week. I sit here in underwear that have been worn for at least that long. That is, if i put on underwear at all. Don't fret, it gets more disgusting. My feeling is that articles on grief are not graphic enough for individuals such as myself. Allow me to enlighten you.

July 10, 2005 my twenty seven year old son (my ONLY child) went to sleep and did not wake up. Almost two years ago and the nightmare continues. At times it is as if it happened one minute ago.....one second ago.

The woman I was is gone, I cannot find her and some would say and do say, "I don't want to". How odd. How freaking hurtful to hear that I do this thing I do willingly. Righty roony, fogged contact lenses, racking sobs that last for hours resulting in inevitable massive headaches, a mind that can't function from lack of food and sleep and God knows what. Yea, thats what I want.

No, what I want is my son back. What I want are drugs, any kind of drug that will dull this pain. Breathing is an effort. I have taken twenty Xanax, ten to twelve vicodins in one day. Amazing what the human body can endure. My child had a measly forty milligrams of methadone in his system. Gives credence to the statement that when your time is up, it really is up. I digress, back to the disgusting state of affairs i find myself in.

Four days, maybe five days of dishes in the sink. Clothes scattered throughout, dirty counter tops, tubs and sinks and toilets. Unswept floors, unpaid rent, unbathed and unwalked thousand dollar dog that was supposed to give me relief from this constant hell.......I literally smell. Haven't shaved legs or underarms in days and don't care.

The proverbial "science projects" growing in the fridge may, in fact, cure cancer. At the risk of being prophetic, i would welcome a terminal disease. For a few reasons, death mainly. Or unending supply of pain killing drugs. God keeps me alive for whatever reason that remains a mystery. Dying is preferrrable as I would see my child again, walking

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