The entirely shitty day
Seven weeks ago my husband died. A week ago my grandmother died. My life sucks.
I knew today was going to be hard. I knew I would need an army of people by my side to get me through the day. Where was the army? They certainly weren’t here. Instead, the army was out and about enjoying their lives. Looking forward to a future I lost. Babies I would never have. Homes I would never buy – at least not the ones I thought.
I wrote these few sentences while I was in the heat of an overpowering bout of emotion. In my slightly less clouded state, I can look back and realize that I responded to reactions that night with way more contention than was necessary. I can also defend my “army.” My friends. My family. They all have lives – lives that simply cannot be put on hold to babysit me every day. And if I really need something, I can ask. The answer is sometimes no and I don’t like it, but I can ask and I can know that the people who care about me will do everything they can to not say no, but all of this rational thinking, though very much true, doesn’t really matter. Why? Because I feel like I’ve been forgotten.
The invitations to “get out of the house” have all but stopped. I don’t get text messages anywhere near as frequently. Other than work, I don’t see adults. I can’t go anywhere because I have the kids 24/7. And all I want is for the revolving door that was my house during the first few weeks to swing open maybe just a little bit. It doesn’t have to be every day, but a couple times a week would be nice. Hell, when Jon was here we had more company than I have now.
You take for granted the value of adult interaction – that time after lights out for the kids when you can talk about inappropriate things or watch inappropriate shows and just know you’re not the only body in the room. I can tolerate sleeping alone now. I’ve forgotten, for the most part, that I miss sex. But I can’t get over the sense of solitude that sweeps over me each night after I put my kids to bed. For the most part, I’m fine until that moment when I sit down and realize I have no one to talk to. Watching TV helps, but it’s not talking to me even if I talk to it. Writing is a great tool, but it’s still so quiet other than the clacking of my keys.
Wine tastes better when it’s shared. Show’s are funnier when someone is laughing along with you. And the day seems fuller when you have someone to tell about it. Today I tried to talk about my day, but no one was listening. Loneliness is bullshit.