Torn Apart

The pain that comes from loneliness is so bad, that death almost always seems preferable. I have felt this way for the past year now, ever since the accident.

I am alone now,… and I am having a hard time getting used to it. You see, my wife Laura was like a gift from God, so going on without her has been the hardest thing for me to so. All I ever wanted was for her to be happy. I always said that I would do anything for her, even die for her.

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Now that she’s gone, my world has been reduced to nothing more than an endless walk through empty rooms. Sometimes I can see our favorite record on the turntable, spinning,.. but I can’t hear the music. It’s as if all my senses are dull, numb. When I am in a room full of people, I can barely see them, if they were enveloped in fog. In fact, it feels as though I’m not really there at all.

I know that the drunk driver regrets that night,.. and I know that he thought something like this could never happen. That’s just the problem, he never thought.

I can’t help feeling angry, angry at him, even angry at Laura for leaving me, even though I know it’s not her fault. I feel so helpless, so alone, so scared.

I have been able to feel other things, too, such as warmth and love. When I think of the times we spent together, laughing, crying, loving… it helps me to keep her alive in my mind by keeping our memories alive. Sometimes, I have even felt a strange, unfamiliar glimmer of hope. This is when I am alone at night, and I think that I can see her, right in front of me. I believe, even for a moment, that she is with me again, that she never really left, that she has always been there by my side. So I reach out to hold her, but when I do her image fades,…then disappears.

Then I remember that I am alone.

Sometimes, it helps me if I visit the gravesite, for it forces me to face the truth, peeling away any remnants of denial. I find it painful to read the tombstone, but I force myself anyway. As always, it reads:




Sometimes, the pain that comes from loneliness is so bad, that death is almost always preferable.

The end.

A. Le Sage



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