Sugar Therapy

2:51 PM

I had a chocolate cupcake with vanilla icing about twenty minutes ago. Most of you would probably say, ‘So what? Brandon must be awake—he’s eating. What’s the big deal?” Well, it has taken me nearly three months to have this cupcake. People have invited me to go, since they know how much I love this cupcake shop (right now I can’t think of the name of it), and I have turned them down. I had driven by it several times, always looking at it longingly. Not really due to the cupcakes, but everything they represent. It was where I got Chad’s birthday cupcakes last year, and where I am sure we would have gotten nearly every cake for every occasion from here on out. We went there nearly every week for several months (and we wonder why I gained forty pounds), and the owner knew us by name and which cupcake we wanted. I changed most of the time, but Chad nearly always got the carrot cake cupcake. I was on my way to the final (at least, I think) of my three therapy appointments, and I knew I had to go in and get a cupcake. I nearly drove by once again, but then zoomed in at the last moment. My heart was pounding like mad as I got out of the car and walked up to the store. I dreaded seeing the owner, having her ask me why I hadn’t been in so long and where Chad was. I opened the door, and there was a new girl working, the owner wasn’t in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief and ordered my chocolate/vanilla cupcake. I took it out to the car and simply looked at it for moment, and then said a ‘prayer’ (to Chad) before I ate it. Telling him I love, that I miss him, that I have to keep trying to live and enjoy life without him. With that, I ate the cupcake. There is hardly anything I do that is not in some way tied to Chad. We did so much and went so many places, that everywhere I turn there are good memories. It may seem that it would be it easy since they are good memories (and I am sure it is easier than having bad memories everywhere), but every place and event highlights what I have lost—whereas, if they were bad, it would show what I had managed to get freedom from. I am nervous and excited about having my last therapy session. I know he says that I don’t really need them, that I am functioning better than most people do, and I didn’t really want to be back in therapy, but I do like knowing that I have this safety net. I keep waiting for him to have the magic words or something to fix it, to bring Chad back, to have things make sense to me. I know there aren’t any such words, from therapy or anywhere else. But, I really wish there were. I need them.

5:16PM

Back home from therapy. Crying is fun. (Ugh) And I now have to go grab food for the Bible study. This therapy session mostly dealt around the pondering of if I should continue to hope. Of course, as in nearly all therapy, there was no answer. I tell myself that he’s not coming back, that this is my life now, period. I tell myself to keep living life, keep seeing friends, go out with people, keep writing, keep walking the dogs, keep pretending that you’re living the life you want, and one day it will be true. However, to the very core of me, I can not wrap my head (or heart) around the concept that he won’t come back. It doesn’t make sense to me, as I have said before. It could be looked at as proof that he will come back some day, that we are to be together. Or it could be looked at as I am delusional and wasting my heart and time. So, I am intentionally choosing not to hope, but unintentionally hoping with everything in me. I love that I love him, and I hate that I love him.