This is my least favorite part of the year. No surprise there. I’m not writing this for pity and I’m not writing to apologize. First, I’m not the one that should be receiving any sort of compassion or sensitivity in this situation and now second, an apology is light-years away from sufficient.
It was 12 years yesterday and I would figure that it would somehow get easier, but it doesn’t. Some years are better than others around this time. This year, well, this years has been nearly unbearable. (If none of this makes any sense to you, simply count blessings.)
People mean well when they reach out, but some do such a terrible job at trying to say they’re there for me.
Others take a down-right bizarre approach.
And some infuriate me.
But, more than I’d like to admit, I find myself reminding people that I’m not the victim here. And I’m not.
Not in any way.
Yes, I still wish it was me that didn’t survive that night.
Yes, I think still think that of that often.
Yes, I get woken up in the middle of the night about it.No, it’s not fun – at all.
Yes, these feelings haven’t changed and in some way’s they’ve got worse.
No, I am in no way, never have been and never will be the victim in this scenario.
I still miss my friend and