I have been a sporadic blogger lately. Years ago, when I wasn't writing (whether it was journaling or writing poetry) it was because everything was going so well. I had to be miserable to write. So it is a fair assumption that because I have not written all is going well. Not true on grief street. It could mean a variety of things-sometimes I do not write because I am so sad that I do not see the point.
Since he died, I have these very long slumps. I use to say that I was having a bad day or bad week. Then I realized that I said this a lot, and it was not just the day or the week that was hard. My life is hard and there is no respite on the horizon. I get really quiet then. I don't make conversation, I don't write. I don't see the point-why should I go on about how hard life is without him. I have been there, done that and have a closet full of tee shirts. And frankly-I don't even want to hear it anymore.
But I wonder what it means, and when I will turn a corner on this. Maybe never. I guess I am different than I was last year and I will be different next year as well. Last week my slump was about his 56th birthday-so sad to acknowledge it and a world without him. But I cannot say that life is better now than it was last year. So hard to say that it will be better next year as well. And so there is no hope that life will get better. I say this knowing how dismal it sounds and that I am probably being overly dramatic about it. But this is the way I feel. I have changed so much since he died that even I do not recognize myself. I guess I am waiting for the miracle-that one day it will hurt, but the pain will only be a small piece of who I am. I am not sure that I see this in my future.
I have to be patient, and then take responsibility for creating a future that will be good. I am not ready for that yet.