I want to write.
But I’m worried that if I write how I feel, that I will be judged,
That there will be people out there going, “really?” “you haven’t gotten over it yet?”.
And even if they’re not saying it, a bit of me is hearing it…
I’m not over it.
I’m not even moving forward with it.
A few days ago it was his 50th birthday.
A milestone he will never reach.
And a milestone that I will reach ahead of him.
On my own.
I will be older than he ever was.
It was not a good day.
A lonely day in a very specific way.
I do sometimes have better patches.
But the bad patches are just as bad, if not worse, as they ever were.
I should have killer abs.
Because my gut clenches when those thoughts hit.
It physically hurts.
My face is streaked with dried tears.
And I really cannot explain how literally painful it is.
I have endometriosis.
I have had broken bones.
I know pain.
It is tearing me apart, day after day after day.
And before you accuse me of wallowing…
Do you not think I want to feel better?
Have those “get up and choose to feel better” memes sucked you in?
They’re all b*ll*cks.
It’s just not that simple.
This is how it is.
To deny it it would be wrong.
Just a pressure cooker that explodes, sooner or later.
Grief is your path, that you walk on your own.
There are no short cuts.
I have to keep on living through it.
Loneliness hurts almost as much as grief.
And life keeps throwing extra challenges, as if the current status quo wasn’t enough.
My self esteem is at an all time low.
Weight gain, age, meds…
I feel fat and ugly and old.
And frequently in serious levels of pain.
I keep busy.
I distract myself.
But then suddenly I want to talk to him.
I have something to share with him, that he’d totally get, like no-one else.
Or I need a Matt hug. To be engulfed and understood and comforted.
The sun is shining, but I can’t go to a beach without him.
It’s a weekend and I have nowhere to go and no-one to see.
Just the same old, same old, stay in bed, ignore the world, sleep as much as I can, until it’s over.
I can’t explain to you how this kind of unavoidable but pointless endless yearning hurts.
I miss him.
Three small words that try to encompass a world full of feelings that cannot be fixed.
A universe of loss and pain and tears and regrets and what could have been…and nowhere to go with all of those feelings.
I miss him.
Like someone ripped a part out of me, and left me less me.
And having been shown who I could be, with his support and his love, and how we were, I don’t know how to be anything anymore.
I don’t know how much longer I can endure this amount of raw, intense, all encompassing, agony.
I miss him.
I keep doing life.
Day after day.
Same shit different day.
But I don’t know how the f*ck to keep on doing it.
I guess I don’t have any choice.
So I’ll keep on doing it.
But it’s not getting better.
Time does not heal.
It just makes us further apart.
That’s not better.
We were everything.
And now I’m nothing.
My darling I’m holding on so tight…but it’s a losing battle.
I’ve lost him.
My other half, my soulmate, my partner in crime..
And I’ve lost me.
The sunshine through my window has gone.
I am forever grateful for having had him in my life…
…but I sometimes feel like I died with him.
Maybe tonight, I can dance with his ghost again…it’s as close as I can get, until I’m there with him, wherever that is, or isn’t.