Once to die is better than length of days in sorrow without end.
-Aeschylus
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"Denial is the first step."
I curl up into a ball on the floor in front of Maureen's radiator and say nothing.
I say nothing and do nothing except struggle to believe what has happened.
But I can't believe it.
So I block it out.
And I block out everything else.
I can't make this acceptable. I can't talk. And I can't think. And I can't go home.
I can never go back there.
Now I'm stranded.
Trapped.
Inside my own mind. Left to fend off the onslaught of grief as it sinks in. Slowly.
Dauntingly slow.
I have no medication now. No help. No relief.
I can't sleep I can't eat I can't breathe.
Roger is dead Roger is dead Roger is dead.
Never have I felt so lost. Never have I been so overcome by such an unyielding urge to die.
I can't admit to this.
"Mark, please talk to us."
I can't I can't I can't.
"Mark, you've gotta get up."
I can't.
"It's been three days. Please."
I can't.
"I need you to try."
I can't.
"You've gotta eat something man."
Ceaseless pleading to counter the ceaseless misery.
"Damnit Mark, it feels like we've lost you too."
But you have.
"Mark, everyone's waiting on you. You gotta- we need you to breathe Mark. Do it for Roger."
But Roger is dead. What is the use of breathing? Of anything?
"Mark, you've gotta say something."
"What's the use?"
It's true.
For now.
Acceptance is a mere cover.
Hope is an artificial emotion.
I think artificial thoughts.
I can't comprehend.
Not yet.
Not ever.
What I do understand?
Roger is dead.
"Is he really gone?"
"Mark, you can't keep asking that."
Why not?
What else can I do?
I can't. I hate. There's only hate.
So much went unsaid. There was so much left to do.
He did this to me. And now he's gone. He left without me. I couldn't save him. And it's too late now.
I can't forgive. I must forget.
I warned you. You escaped, but I cannot.
I'm sorry, Roger. I'm so, so sorry.