And now I'm somewhere in between the place where, I cried and screamed because I knew what happened and was upset, confused, sad and angry, and the place where it all sinks in and I understand why this happened. So I'm still upset and angry but at the same time, I don't really know what to think, or feel. I don't really feel anything.

I wrote that. On October 6, 2004. Just a few hours after I got my phone call.

I don't know what gave me the impression that it would ever sink in and I would understand what happened, but that was shit, probably gathered from all of those TV shows I used to watch and books I used to read in which everyone would figure out the "greater meaning" of everything and live-happily-ever-after in the end. I'm still angry and upset and then I'm still there in that halfway place most of the time. I avoid thinking about it now though, because I hate being sad. I feel like being sad is such a waste of the time I've been given now and I'm scared I'm not going to have enough time to be as happy as I want if I waste time being sad. I don't even know if I'm making sense. This week has already been rough. Friday is looming ahead and I don't even know why I'm so anxious about it and why I'm stressing out about it. Why does Friday have to be different from any other day that he's been gone? I mean, I know that it's a "special" day. I don't really feel like special is the right word but I can't figure things out right now. I just don't understand, and if I'm never going to understand then why do I keep trying to?

I just don't even know what I'm saying. at all.