I feel like a bad person. I am just so utterly self-centred sometimes.
Earlier today, we buried someone, said our goodbyes, no matter how surreal it felt.
A whole bunch of emotions have surfaced since, and most of them selfish. They are swirling in an odd mass in the pit of my stomach and occupying my mind.
There is a residual taint of regret throughout. Regret I could not bring myself to say goodbye in my own way. Regret that I did not get to talk to people I yearned to talk to. Regret I could not get the right words out to the people I did speak to. Regret that I was dragged away before I got to get it all out of my system. Regret that I could not go to the wake, because I was not strong enough to say no to my family.
There is a burning inside that wants contact with those people I have missed all these years. The first person I ever fell for. People I worked with. People that drifted away not realising their significance in my life.
Longing to reconnect.
Fear that I will only see them at the next funeral.
Insignificance.
Loathing, disappointment and resentment for myself.
