Sorry I haven't posted in a few days. We're fine, but I just-- I just can't help but feel that we really are all alone, and that all this journaling is pointless.
I'm starting to come to terms with never seeing my family again. I don't think I can deal with the fact that there's no one out there to help us just yet.
Really, we've been so lucky. I'm trying to remember that. The fact that I got to hold onto my family at all when so many other people lost theirs-- or their own lives-- is a miracle. The fact that I still have my husband, who has medical knowledge, and that we found this old lab and could make it defensible, is beyond miraculous.
I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep wallowing in what used to be, but I just can't stop. I don't know if I'll ever accept the way things are now. I'll always be trying to get back the life I had, the life I can never go back to. Mostly, I think, because this reality is so harsh and violent and full of loss that I can't help but hope it's just a horrible nightmare and I'll finally manage to pinch myself hard enough to wake up from it.
I used to be so goal driven. I think that's part of what's holding me back from acceptance-- there's no goal to strive toward anymore except to live another day. I need a project, something to look forward to, something to work on.
Maybe I'll try my hand at breaking the passwords on a couple of files on this computer. It might not be much to work for, but I definitely have the time.
It certainly beats Go Fish.
