I debated on whether or not I should tell anyone here about my past life.  My past year.  Monica.
I decided no during the road trip over.
After a really rough summer that seemed to be filled with the sadness of her death, I decided not to bring her with me to LA.
Because if I wanted to not be sad, I couldn't bring any part of her.  I'm realizing it's not Monica that I'm suppressing and warring against, but the ghost of her death.  I want to keep Monica within me always, but her ghost is still ever-present.  So, it's all or nothing.
So I didn't talk about her.  And honestly, I didn't really think about her.  It was like the ghost left, but at the same time, so did Monica.
So my one roommate, Krista, and I were having a loooooong chat a few days ago when everyone else was out and we were talking about boys and and faith and life and I told her a bit about where I've come from.
And a few opportunities arose where I could have mentioned Monica.  But I didn't because I didn't want to bring such a burden, such baggage to a new environment.
But finally I decided to tell Krista, just quickly state that she passed away and it's been rough.
And just like that, the ghost is back.
The nightmares, the fear of sleep, the spontaneous crying when I'm alone...
Sometimes I am so overwhelmed with how wrong this is that I want to scream.
And of course, it's the nights that I have a ton of things to do that I my head is clouded with grief.
Grief that has made a home in my head.