Scattered thoughts

There's a book lying on my couch.  "I Wasn't Ready To Say Goodbye".  It's a book on grief.  It came highly reccomended by my sister.  I bought it as soon as I could, I believe it helped her on the road to healing.  I wanted to heal too so I bought it.  It arrived a few days ago and I cracked it open.  I've read about three paragraphs and I can't read anymore.  The book scares the crap out of me and I'm not entirely sure why.

It's sort of like that the haunted house at the end of street on Halloween.  You know the one... with the strobe lights in the window, the graves in the yard, the cobwebs in the trees, and screaming and laughing  kids running away in every direction?  Everyone that's gone in tells you how great it is and they want to go back, and you REALLY want to go in but you're pretty sure you'll pee yourself if Jason jumps out of a corner and chases you down with a chainsaw... so maybe you don't want to take the chance, just in case.

I've heard that authors produce their best work when they are in the depths of misery, pain, and depression.  I don't know how true that is.  I like to write, in fact I love to write and I've been told that I'm quite talented when I do so.  I consider myself an author but I didn't write a bit after my dad died and I was pretty miserable at that point.  I did write a goodbye to my nephew when he died a few months ago, but that was only because screaming into nothingness started to hurt my throat and whispering into the dark seemed a bad habit to develop. 

It seems as if nobody really understands why losing him hurts so much.  He was more than my nephew.  We were only three years apart.  He was my first friend.  He's in all of my first memories.  If I ever felt joy, excitement, amusement, confusion, anxiety, fear, frustration, anger... he was a part of it.  Even as I sit crying while I remember, I can see his smile and hear his laugh... and it hurts me even more.  I hate being in a world where he isn't.  John tells me that I have to "move on".  I don't want to "move on".  I never want to "move on".  That would imply that I am leaving him behind, and how do you leave behind such a huge part of your life?