What goes up must come down
Today’s a bad day.
It’s difficult to pinpoint why it differs from the day before, or the one before that, but for some unexplainable reason, my heart feels heavier.
The gaping wound he left behind is weeping. My body feels heavy with sadness.
It started like any other day, too. In fact, it started better than the ones that came before it.
Oliver slept really well, he even slept in, and I had the energy to tackle an hour long gym session.
I then put him down for a nap, sat down to my breakfast, and that’s when the familiar stab of loneliness hit.
I recognised it instantly. It zaps every last fragment of positivity, optimism and self-love, leaving behind a hollow shell.
I just want to crawl into a ball and cry. But strangely, three weeks on, there have hardly been any tears, so i’m unsure how to deal with this suffocating energy.
Everyone keeps telling me the tears will come. And when they do, the outpouring will bring with it a huge release. I fear this purge, because it means everything is real.
It means he really is gone. It means I really am alone. It means my family, my beautiful little family, doesn’t exist anymore.
It’s so much easier to run on an engine filled with anger, animosity and rage. It’s energising. It’s powerful enough to numb the grief. It’s an adrenaline boost.
But when that evaporates, it leaves behind a crushing sadness.
There’s so many bad parts to this tragic story, but one of the worst aspects is I really miss him.
I miss his company, his friendship, the feeling of his arms around me.
I miss waking up in the morning and he’s there. I miss watching him with our son and my heart swelling with love. I miss talking to him. I miss calling him. I miss hearing him tell me he loves me.
I miss sending him photos of Ollie doing something new and exciting, but not quite new and exciting enough to share with anyone who isn’t his parent.
I’m angry I miss someone who treated me so terribly. Someone who thought I was disposable. Someone I loved more than anyone, and decided my love wasn’t enough for him.
I’m grieving for what I lost. I’m also grieving for the future we’ll never have.
Self-pity is soul-destroying. And I’m waist-deep. It’s slowly rising. Pretty sure it will reach my mouth. I won’t be able to breathe. Will I have the strength to wade back out?
I can’t keep relying on these raging adrenaline shots to keep me going. My body is fatigued. My mind is a mess.
Do I reach for the half a valium a well meaning friend left behind? Or do I just look at Oliver’s beautiful face and use that as inspiration to be better. To do better. To wade my way out of the suffocating self-pity swallowing me whole.