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2003-03-09 : 3:03 p.m.
Happy 26th Danny Guzman...
Written on the train, 3-8-03 3:18 p.m.
Listening to: Oasis I can�t believe of all the days... I have to go and settle a claim with the cable company. It�s just as well. I�m on my way into the city anyhow... This time last year... I was at my first temp gig, finally making some money in New York. But today? This? How futile... I know I�ve written a bit about Danny on these pages. But I�ve never gotten into all the reasons, as to why I cannot come to grips- (or for lack of a better phrase) get closure(?). It�s gotten better in the sense that, I�ve gotten use to, accustomed as it were - (as with everything in life). Like not being able to just pick up the phone and call him. And how I am able to cope- depends solely on, �am I having a good day as it si, or not?� If there is one thing and one thing only- that has managed to decrease in it�s severity- with the passing of time, is what psychologists�s dub... Survivor�s guilt. And the idea of tagging myself with some �psychological� babble doesn�t appeal to me in the least... nor have I been able to �understand� people on any said level before... But I would have to admit... in some psycho-babble way... I had become sick. It was at it�s worst for the first year. I couldn�t go out, a movie... a walk, even to class... because the guilt of any joy that could come out of those things- became too much. I was crippled from it. I wouldn�t let people touch me, wouldn�t receive gifts or favors, dreaded the �going out� or primping of anything... Even my boyfriend at the time- for a solid year would receive no sex (a huge deal- if you know me at all), no hugs, no loving talk, no kisses, no substance to anything- because the despair that would overcome me... brought me to my knees, with screams, wails, that Jorge would only just hold me and rock me... For hours..until I�d be so exhausted- I would fall asleep as I cried... To then wake up, the following day, and begin the process all over. And he�d hold me, rock me, again...again... and again... For a solid year. I just didn�t want to wake up. Yet Jorge never left me. He saved me. I know this now. He saved me... but I�ll tell you about him another day. So at least... that much of the experience I have managed to convert- (with help from friends as well really) redirect, as it were, into a more positive swing of things. See... I live now... Because he can�t. I love, touch, hold, taste, anything... Because it would be a disgrace... If for him... To not. Now, if there is a fear... I have even more reason to experience it. And if anything has pushed me farther into the realms of being forward, outgoing, eager... and able and willing, and open... and be okay with wanting, hoping, reading... Fletcher and everything... If only- just because I can. And of course this entire plague and hell... the grief it is, that has come with everything... there is the simplest aspect... the simplest part of this very complex story... That gets me the most... And that is to know.. That Jen H. And I, were the only two... Not afforded the right... The necessary right... To see him go... We were the only two of all his dozens, and dozens of friends, who were not able to say goodbye... We were not at the wake or the funeral. We (especially I), had no idea... that he had been given only �days� to live... at that point. Jen was in the middle of exams, as was I, but she had -had an especially difficult semester. On the verge of failing classes and such. And her mother... Her fucking mother... Decided to withhold it from her (and I, because I would not hold the info from her, ever)- in order to not affect her school and such... When Danny�s family could not find my parent�s to contact, or my number in Gainesville, they asked her to relay the info... As Danny was in the hospital... And lay dying... But she didn�t, she�d wait... and destroy us in the process. Danny would never see us again. She and subsequently I, would find out days after- After he had died and been buried... I will never forgive this woman... and that�s not to say I am not close to her mother... But I will NEVER forgive her. And to this day, it fills me with rage... and I find hate still dwelling in my gut for this... So you have to understand... (prior to this, I never imagined funerals and such, could be so important-) But... But... when I visit his grave... as much as my mind- logically, rationally, understands the connotative value of the words... "This is where... and this is what�s left..." His body... his hugs... his lips... are... I simply cannot accept... The implications of those same words... It just does not make any sense to me. It�s like I am five again, and you're told something is �dead�, something is forever �gone�... and you can...almost...in a fuzzy sort of way, understand what that means... Yes, It�s forever... You�ll never see them again... But the ramifications of everything outside of that... Just makes you dizzy... As if the scope is to large to fit into your skull... Because you haven�t the words, or the knowledge to process it. And that... is where I am stuck. Because I had gone on believing that he was getting �better�... he let me go on understand... And because in order for me to understand that none of that was true... And because I would never had imagined otherwise... That Soul-less shell... To just tough once more... And tell him, �I�m sorry.� But instead... I�m plagued. Because to me... He�s just gone missing.
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