Adventure

Structure has always been important to me. Everything has to have a plan, and when we deviate from that plan, I get frustrated. That didn’t bode well in my relationship with Shani.

On Sunday mornings, I was typically up and off to yoga early, and she would still be in bed when I got home. This drove me nuts, but she believed that the weekends were her time so she was sleeping in on most of them. I would always fix us breakfast in bed when I got back though. It was usually the same old coffee, eggs, toast and veggie sausage, but it worked. It was our tradition.

Celebrate & Grieve

I went to Atlanta this weekend. Originally, I was supposed to go down Saturday night for a party for a friend of mine. Staci and her new husband were celebrating their recent marriage. After having a private ceremony a few months ago, they were just now having a get-together for their close friends.

I was concerned about being alone in a social environment, so I e-mailed her earlier in the week to tell her that I just wasn’t ready. She said she understood but still wanted to meet to have lunch if possible. Considering how busy the day was going to be for her, I was thrilled that she would take the time to come see me. It had been three years since I last saw her. Staci lost her best friend to murder 12 years ago and said she really wanted to be there for me. She thought she could help.

I Hope You Have A Good Therapist

I just got home from seeing my therapist, Allie. I’ve written about seeing her before, but never alluded directly to my visits or the epiphanies that I’ve had with her over the last 6 months. I’m sure a lot of people’s first or second thoughts in considering what I was facing in all of this were probably along the lines of, “I hope he’s got a good therapist…” Well, yes, I do, thank you very much.

I felt sketchy as soon as I got in the car this morning. My days have been difficult as of late, going from one extreme to the other. I’ve been doing a lot of “pushing through things,” carrying the weight of the world on my back for a long time, but I hit the road for my hour and fifteen-minute drive down I-75. Yep, I drive an hour and fifteen minutes to see her. She’s that good.

I’ve written previously about how music has been a vessel by which Shani has communicated with me since her death, and obviously, a huge theme of the book Sean and I are writing is about mine and Shani’s connection with music. I’ve written about how Shani has sent me messages through song lyrics (as I type this, Crazy Love by Van Morrison is playing). At this point however, when hear something that seems to have come at the perfect time, or a specific song comes through, I’m simply comforted. It has become a common feeling that I now have about the interconnectedness of all things.

Opinions Are Like...

In the days following Shani’s death, the story of her murder was all over the television and internet, and the initial reports had none of the information that I was privy to following my debriefing from detectives the day after the murder. All anyone in the general public knew was that Shani was ambushed by Zeke as she sat in her car at the entrance gate to his apartment.

It was released that, while on the way to the police station to be questioned, Zeke had asked to serve his time in a hospital if he was “going away for a long time.” Apparently, one of our neighbors also told the media that we were moving to Florida, which was then thrown into the mix as a possible motive, so a reporter with the Atlanta Journal Constitution wrote that Zeke killed Shani because she was moving to start a life without him.

There was a lot, though, that nobody knew...

Finding Peace Through Meditation

Over the last 24 hours, I’ve done a lot of meditating. For those of you who don’t have a regular meditation practice, which I can only assume is the majority of people reading this, I would highly suggest reading and researching its benefits. I’ll be glad to assist anyone that needs a little direction.

In Limbo

I’m having a hell of a time writing lately. I’ve got so many things going on in my head that every time I start I seem to go in a million different directions. I want to come up with something uplifting, but the truth is that I’m nothing but scattered. I want to move forward, but feel encaged. I want to connect with others, but feel completely isolated. I want a foundation on a new existence and feel nothing but unstable.

Our Brain, The Crazy Computer

The following is a graphic description of my personal experience with PTSD.

In my previous post about PTSD, I referenced a number of symptoms associated with the disorder. Before going any further, I want to make it very clear that these symptoms and this experience are completely out of the conscious control of the individual suffering from them. All too often, people look at mental or emotional issues and think people should just “snap out of it” or “move on” with their lives. Trust me, I have a few of those people in my life that have judged me in the same way. They have no clue.

Just imagine, as difficult as this may be for you to do, the picture of your closest loved one being shot to death. Imagine the sounds of the gun firing, the image of the bullets flying, the blood, the guts, the screaming, anything and everything. Now picture your loved one’s body being struck. Imagine where the bullets penetrate—their chest, arms, legs, stomach, head, whatever your brain concocts. Imagine it.