Kurt lay in bed. It was his junior year of college, and in just two days it would be ten years. Well, one and a half, he supposed, as it was past 1AM. While he was happy enough at school, he was so busy with his studies he hadn't made any close friends. Everyone dear to him was far away. And he was too far from his mother's grave to visit there on the day ten years after she drew her last breath.

While he had a pretty full and satisfying life, and his depression was reasonably well controlled, sometimes it was just hard. He worried whether he could maintain this level of productivity indefinitely. Would his mind or body somehow shut off after some point? He was trying to keep a degree of balance, get rest, eat...well, not *well,* but at least in normal quantities. But it was hard to say.

Getting ready for bed, he'd pondered the day coming so quickly. While he'd never actually cut himself before, he'd dabbled near to it with scraping skin raw; while he'd never attempted suicide, he'd pondered it every day in high school. Less so now, for which he was grateful.

But when thinking of the day, somehow the first thought to pop up was to really do it. Like for real. Not anything serious, not permanent, not that - but to actually draw blood. The thought fascinated and upset him at the same time. How could he consider commemorating his mother's life in that way? And yet nothing else seemed...severe enough. Symbolic of the loss.

Didn't people long ago, cut themselves to mourn the loss of loved ones? They also cried and wailed, and sat with each other. 21st century Americans don't do these things...they just try to get by, and to deal with everyone who says they're grieving too much or too little. Cause nobody is ever satisfied. Either you aren't crying enough and are told to "not bottle it up, come on!" or you're too upset, and told to "get over it" and that "life goes on." What nobody can do, even if they wish they could, is sit with you and let you cry and not have to cry alone. As if the one bereft would even know how to cry in front of someone. Some of us have tempered our emotions so much that we can hardly express enough happiness to feel sufficient (upon being given a gift, Kurt often felt overwhelmed with anxiety that his appreciation wouldn't communicate properly).

Well. He had a day. People burned candles, he supposed...maybe he could do that. Or go run until his legs ached. Probably not best to go there on that day; she wouldn't like it. Wait and see. Wait and see. Days always go by...