A Year Or So
I have not forgotten how to write, I couldn't. Grief kept me from finding the words for every single thing I once found passion in.
Every day has been an uphill climb. To get out of bed, to work, to see others, to laugh, to sleep, to have an honest opinion on anything.
Social media has become an absolute mine field for mixed emotions of jealousy, anger, despair, and the overwhelming feeling of idiocracy.
I forced myself into the corner of a room where I'm already alone. I'm tired of the fighting, the pettiness, the absolute stupidity.
Maybe it's a mixture of losing him, the medication that keeps me from the cliff or aging in general.
There is no more great "romance" in a love of over twenty-two years, only the knowledge that you both are still here, still surviving.
I have had to re invent who I am. I am no longer a mother, no longer full of the fire of youth, no longer the laughter in a full room.
True grief, complicated grief, the kind that only suicide leaves in its wake. I am no longer riding the waves but fighting to keep my head above the undertow.
L. Southard