So Damn Tired…

I miss him, so much. It’s been a little over a month and it hits me everyday that he’s never going to be here again.

And since he died, I’ve just been so tired.

I’m feeling everything too much. My emotions are like stabbing explosions of light, blinding flashes of colour, a cacophony of discordant sounds, all jumbled together and I can’t turn it off, make it stop, or pause, for even just a fucking moment, to let me catch my breath or steady my legs. My psyche feels raw and jagged.

So much expectation that I can’t uphold — be strong, be brave, be present, be forgiving, be…real.

I’m trying with everything in me to be the woman he saw me as, to live the potential he believed I had, that he nurtured and coaxed me to see in myself but I feel my failure. And his disappointment.

I don’t think I can be who he thought I was…

The walls I’ve been sledge hammering down, battering painfully through one brick at a time, to learn to connect to a world that doesn’t understand me nor I it, have slammed back into place, seemingly more impregnable than before.

And within what used to be, and are meant to be, protective walls, every memory of life before him, plays in full technicolour. I no longer have a filter or an escape.

I hear every cruel, hurtful and destructive uttering. I feel each and every one of the many physical blows landed. I re-live every soul destroying experience, years of self doubt, and so much fear, so much loss…over and over, in a continuous hellish loop, the minute I close my eyes.

He was my comfort, my safe place, where my gremlins couldn’t find me. Where I could believe in magic and peace. Where I was safe to say I was scared and unsure. Where I could just be.

He allowed me to find my strength to cope and to take from him when my own wasn’t enough. I let him know me and still he chose me. When he held me, I was enough. I was his person. And now he’s dead.

This is what caring has done to me. This is where vulnerability has taken me. This is the prize for daring to believe that I deserve to be happy. And accepted. And loved.

It ends where it started, with me being alone. I was always accepting of being alone before. I was very good at being alone. The difference is that now I’m not only alone, but I’m so very, very lonely. My person is gone and he’s not coming back.

Now, I’m no longer just broken, but shattered.

And so damn tired…