People keep telling me I'm brave. I'm really not sure why as I've never before felt so phony. That person who gets to go to work or who spends time with friends and family is a totally different person than the sad version of her who goes home at night. I think that this is part of it, but every once in a while I can't stop fixating. Not only am I sad, my insides are a child mid-tantrum, kicking and stomping. I think sad and terrible thoughts.
How could people who were so happy to be together deserve this kind of punishment when horrible people who are horrible to each other get to go on? My brain is pretty good at telling me that's not how it works. I know it's not really punishment, but it feels like it is. I sometimes think about how, if it had to happen, it should have been someone else's husband who died suddenly - someone who was cheating or lying or abusive. It should have been someone older who had already lived a full life or who didn't have a kid who needs him, needs him, needs him. Someone who didn't have a plan to have more children. Someone who was not mine...
I'm not proud. And by the time I've had all these terrible thoughts, I have to remind myself all over again that this is real.
What I wouldn't give to hear the garage door open because someone is coming home.
I've started writing in a journal recently. At the end of each day, I try to think about someone or something good to be thankful for that day. I can use all the reminders of good I can get.
Today I am thankful for friends and family who continue to check on me with visits, food, texts and cards in the mail even though I seldom answer and try to act normal when I'm in person. I don't care if I'm fooling anyone because I think it helps me. I'm flexing some emotional muscle that I hope to strengthen enough to make it real. So thanks for continuing to be gentle and check on me. Makes me feel like I'm not crazy to be floundering the way I am.
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