I haven’t talked much so far about the effect that finding Ian had on me… Mostly, because up until lately, I haven’t felt like it’s had much effect at all in terms of making my experience different than anyone else’s. In fact, up until lately, I’ve been a little glad that it was me, for several reasons.
Lately, I’m noticing things, though. I’m starting to have experiences that aren’t as neutral/weirdly comforting as they have been.
See, for the first seven months, it’s been a matter of me being glad I got to see all the details. Being glad no one else had to. Being vaguely comforted that he trusted me enough to let me see that, and that he trusted me enough to respect the things he left behind for others. And I still feel that.
But lately, it seems like every time I think about him alive, him dancing, singing, bowling, laughing, my mind flashes to the image of him lying there in his room, dead. I can’t tell if it’s an intentional thing semi-consciously, or if it’s completely unwelcome… but it keeps happening.
This is normal, they say. I just thought I’d managed to avoid the majority of the worst repercussions of finding… And to be fair, I still have. I don’t have nightmares… It doesn’t come up when I’m not thinking about him already. It’s not CONSTANTLY THERE…. but it’s worse than it has been.
If he were here, he’d tell me he didn’t intend this… that he didn’t want me to be haunted. My guess is that he didn’t even think about that aspect. He couldn’t. And I understand. I can’t even be mad at him for it, because I know he was not himself… not thinking clearly.
It just sucks.
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