I don't even know where to begin. Apart from the hollowness. It feels like this when I wake up, the last thing I feel before I slip into a cold, damp, disturbed sleep, and the general numbness that surrounds me like a comfort cloak during the day.
I have been this way for what feels like forever, but I know it has only been three weeks. I listen to the words, to the syllables and sounds, to the bullshit. 'It will get easier'. Maybe it will. Maybe I don't want it too. Despite this hollowness, it is all mine, and all mine to remind me of her. All that reminds me of what has happened, and what I have lost. And yes, it is depression. But if I use that word too much I feel like a cliche. I prefer, just the emptiness. The nothingness that remains.
It should be a noise that annoys me. My ears should be pounding with the cries of a newborn, with the laughter of my wife, with the chitter chatter of friends seeing us for the first time after the birth of my first born. I sometimes think I can hear it - the crying, the laughter, as I sit in the nursery that I decorated for her, for them. I sometimes think they cry with me. I know I am teetering on insanity.
