The fact is

So you know where we were a month ago? With the police and the waiting and the not fucking knowing and the praying please God praying?

Right fucking back there. I'd say I can't fucking believe it, but I'm not that naive. Anymore.

Now, there is some chance that he snuck out very quietly and without leaving a note for very legitimate reasons.

Maybe he went to the store? And since my mom was asleep, he didn't want to wake her? And he forgot to leave a note? And now he's so engrossed in purchases that it's taking him hours?

And hours?

Sure. Maybe. However.

The fact is that once you've tried to kill yourself a number of times, then when you're not where you're supposed to be, your family immediately suspects the worst.

The fact is that the police have all the information, and they are currently looking.

The fact is that pretty much all we can do is wait.

The fact is, there's nothing to fucking do but wait.

The fact is, I can't just respond to blog comments and emails like life is normal, when I feel like my entire world is verging on exploding.

How can you just get out of bed, go get the paper, leave it on your bed, and then walk out the door and leave your family for good? And not say goodbye?

I know it's not rational, and I know that the not rational part is why this happens. But this piece of me is going how how how can you be doing this to us again?

And then I think, maybe the car will pull up, and he'll have a trunk full of groceries, and I'll feel stupid for getting so hysterical.

Please, God, I hope that's the case. But I know in my heart it is not.

Fuck, fuck, and more fuck.