A young man died yesterday. He was 23. He had a family. He had a little girl. I’d love to say he was a big part of my life, but he wasn’t. I’d love to say I checked on him on a regular basis but I didn’t. He was one of those people who are in your life for a short time, but you never forget them and each time you think of them it makes you smile just knowing they are on this earth.

But it didn’t change me. I ache for his family and the life he had. And for him to no longer be on this earth. I long to have the energy and be brave enough to reach out to his mother and help his family out, but I am sick. Mental and physically. My mind is in the throws of crazy today. I feel like I must have reigned it all in over the holidays, in an attempt to shield my kids from what is to come.

Do I leave my son with his father? Will he be okay? Will the year destroy our relationship? Will I end up with none? Can I plan for a future when the liability of my emotions is so extreme? Shall I seek out a shaman? An exorcist? A witch? What does one last effort entail? Why am I crazy? Why is the urge to complete suicide so strong?

I don’t think I will make it to watch them grow into adulthood. I don’t think I will ever meet my grandchild or my future grandchildren.

I am sorry I am not a good mother. I am sorry I couldn’t do it all. I couldn’t handle it all. I hope there is an after life. I’m so tired of crying and crying and crying. I can’t handle the thoughts inside my head any longer. I can’t handle the feelings and their intensity. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be me. I am not ok.

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