The Clock Strikes Twelve
Screaming Grief Dec. 31, 2009
New Years Eve 2009
From my journal
Fuck.
Pain.
Numb.
Vodka.
Xanax.
Ambien.
Repeat.
Give me an antidepressant.
I can't.
I want this to stop.
Isn't there a fucking pill?
Something to drown out the noise?
I need everything to sit still.
Let me catch my breath, goddamnit,
For just a minute.
This just sucks.
Fuck.
Sinking in a glass of whiskey,
Lost in Mary Jane's haze.
Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust.
Fuck.
Fuck me.
Fuck you.
Fuck Life.
Champagne dreams,
Kisses at midnight.
I'm screaming inside,
I'm riddled with pain.
I'm so drained.
Is that rain
Or my tears?
I'm consumed by unimaginable fears.
You believed me to be strong.
What if you were wrong?
I'm buckling.
Mother fucking bullshit grief.
Why haven't I also died?
I'm so alone in a sea of people.
The clock strikes in the New Year;
Its dissonant toll shatters my heart,
Marking the first full year without you.
They say time heals all wounds.
Hmm, time will tell.
I don't want a New Year.
Maybe I need to start with a new day?
Tomorrow will be better.
I'll do it for you.
You believed me to be strong.
I won't prove you wrong.
What's the saying?
"One day at a time."
That sucks, fuck!
Thanks for spending your time. If you like my work, why not check out my books on Amazon at: Robert Pardi Author Page. Also, watch for a book pf poetry coming soon.
You can also visit my website www.robertpardi.com if you would like to learn more about me, my lifestyle of Possibility in Action®. Also, check out my YouTube channel for my musing thoughts. #possibilityinaction
This particular day for a man that's lost a wife. Doesn't matter what year. It's the last day you get to say "My wife died last year." Today it's true for me. I don't think that fact has the same impact as "I lost my wife last month" but it still feels the same. I don't like playing the "my wife died "card but sometimes it helps people understand my behavior. I want 2025 to be the year I don't resort to that anymore. 2020 we took care of my mother in law in our home with hospice till she passed. 2021 I spent 38 days in the hospital 17 of which were on a ventilator beating COVID pneumonia. 2022 I spent recovering and my son got married (a happy memory especially dancing with my wife). 2023 wife is diagnosed with stage 4 kidney cancer and we take care of her at home again with hospice till she passed. I told my son at Christmas that there are days when this can feel like it all happened just last month. And it's not about comparing my journey to anyone else. I have met people that have had to endure far worse. I have found it helps to talk about it with people who understand or at least care about me. And maybe my words will help someone else.
Thank you for sharing. I am a believer that it helps to talk about these things though as a culture we shy away because it's uncomfortable and we don't have the "habit" of sharing so openly - but that is just what the piazzas here in Italy were for - sharing our loved human experience for connection and compassion. I am sure your sharing helped someone. It's like in Harry Potter, the "one who shall not be named", keeping things in the dark makes them more scary - calling it out and sharing lessens the weight.