Reflections of a restless eccentric

As I said before, I felt completely alone during this tragic period. What worsened it was talking to people and listening to the absurd things they said to me. During my normal times, I think I am a fairly patient and understanding person. I realize that every person is different in terms of dealing with emotions. Some of them always know the right things to say, and some of them never do even though they have the best of intentions. Therefore, when people of the latter category say something trite to me during a difficult phase, I don't take it seriously. I try and appreciate the intention behind what they said. But this time, I couldn't be that nice person. In what have been my darkest days so far, I struggled and reached out to a few people who were close to me. And when I heard what they had to say, I felt even more alone, sad or angry. I shrunk into a shell and stopped talking to people, because I felt it was pointless. But I realize that before this, I might have said so...

For three weeks now, I have found no words to express what I'm going through. I've sat in stony silence with a gamut of my emotions- shock, denial, grief, rage and despair. Several times I thought of writing, but couldn't do it. Why paint a picture of this horror for others to read? Is it not enough that my family and I are suffering through this perpetual agony? But I lay my soul bare and bleed out these words here for the same reasons that I have always turned to writing. Words are my communion with this world, and my best coping mechanism. During this devastating period, I felt utterly alone. I have family and friends, people who try their best to support and help me, but intense grief is extremely isolating. Well meant platitudes grate on my wounded ear. Even when people call or visit, it reminds me of the fact that their lives are normal, and that mine is shattered beyond repair. It was as though I was walled up in a sound proofed house of transparent glass, and though...