It Definitely Still Hurts

I hope you knew there was going to be another one of these. And I'll be honest, this one is a little harder to post, and harder to write.

For one, some time has passed. I have sat with my feelings and many, many, many, thoughts for a while now.

For two, now I know y'all are listening. So, before we get into the nitty-gritty again, I just need say, thank you. Thank you for listening. For reaching out. For saying. me too. For saying, I've been there. For letting me know you're here for me now. And you want to be here for me now. It truly truly makes a world of difference in my heart.

For three, this one didn't come together exactly as I envisioned it. I wanted to give a better understanding of how my life is split in two now. What it looks like, and what it feels like. And I think you understand what it looks like (hi, you know, instagram,) so I hope this just shines a better light on what it feels like. And I hope it makes sense that my need to attempt to explain this is because I understand fully that I don't always walk around looking like a depressed slump.

In fact, would you believe I've worn a full face of makeup and Lilly more often than not in the last week or so? Yeah.

However, would you believe that I've also cried at more stupid shit than I can count? Yeah.


And, now, a what now:

What now?

Ask me how many times I have said that to myself in the last (almost) two weeks. I don't know.

And also, two weeks? Does it feel like a lifetime? Kinda. Twelve hours? Kinda. 

I don't know what now.

I know that I have to just keep waking up, getting up, going to work, going to the gym, attempting to live my life.

Even though it sort of feels like someone drove the damn Death Star through it.

Even though I know there is a time limit on this kind of grief - I haven't hit it yet. But I feel the pressure of those little walls. Like, it is only okay to be so sad, for so long. And spilling your guts on the internet is only going to be okay for so long.

But here's the thing, this is grief. It's a loss. It is a freaking blow.

It's like someone ripped away a piece of my life and said, "Okay. Keep going."

And dammit, I want that piece back.


Because here is what happens now:

I don't sleep through the night right now. Getting to sleep is not the worst part, though, we all know that is when the thoughts are-a-flowin. It's staying asleep. I get a lot of nightmares right now. I do a lot of tossing and turning.

And yeah, this is when the Death-Star-hole feels physical. Because my bed is missing a pillow, and my whole body somehow feels the difference.


Actually, I feel different now. In a way I'm still not sure I can properly explain. It is like my heart is somehow more open to the world around me. And at the same time I don't want anyone near it.

That probably doesn't make too much sense.

He gave me some sort of bravery that I didn't have before him. And I had it, you know, the whole time with him. But now, in some ways, it feels like the only piece I got to keep. This bravery that was encouraged, and tended to, and loved on. Somehow that means I'm going on hikes by myself, and running races alone, and planning road trips across Canada.

...and I don't want anyone near it. Yeah, that's a tough one.

Well, a lot of people wanted to help me get fired up in the wake of this. You know, screw him! On to bigger and better things! His loss! But I am not there. Not at all.

I'm not mad. I am not bitter. I am not pissed. I am not against him. Not at all.

In fact, I get it.

Remember? He needed this. For his bigger and better to take shape, he needed to be alone. He needed time, and space...just not me.

And eff anyone that doesn't want that for someone they love. Of course I want that for him. Are you kidding? That's all I want. Go, be happy, get after that adventure.

And at the same time, that voice in my heart is loud enough that I know you all can hear it, is saying, I just wish you could be happy with me too.

Right? That's the crux. That's why I don't want anyone near this heart. Because this heart doesn't feel like enough. It doesn't want to be mad at him. It doesn't want to download Tinder, or meet dudes downtown. It wants to crawl back into bed, and ask again and again, didn't I love enough? Didn't I support enough? Didn't I try enough?

It is aching.

It is screaming.

It is every day saying, this is right, this is what has to happen, right alongside the voice that says, this sucks, this is the worst, why does this have to happen? 


Right now, I feel like I am being pulled between being a wallowing fat-ass, and actually trying to make myself better.

With no appetite, I've finally found the only way to curb my insatiable need for salt and vinegar chips: heartbreak.

But, what is the first thing people offer you when you've gotten your heart broken? Food.

So, like I said, I'm doing the gym thing. I got the personal trainer. I've booked the races.

Honestly, it is a distraction. It's a really nice distraction.

And I am enjoying the hikes, and the runs, and the losing of the pounds. (Amazing what a consistent two weeks of cardio will do for you.)

Oddly though, it has become a way to only focus on the task at hand. And, truthfully, I've never been that type of runner, or what have you. I use that time to think, to toss things around in my head. I find a lot of my best ideas on the treadmill. Until, well, now.

It's been...quiet time?

I think it helps that it is wildly socially unacceptable to cry on the treadmill.

Probably less so in the woods when you're alone, but whatever.


I am tired, always.

Wanting to cry is just a constant pervasive pulse under my chest.

I miss him, obviously.

But, it has been almost two weeks. And, my life with a hole the size of a Death Star in it, still exists. It still works. It all feels broken, and sad, and quiet. But it works.

And I hope, when you see my life working, you feel a little spark of excitement. Because that is what I get. A little spark. A flash of what the good stuff will feel like when this lifts.

Because, what you don't see is when it's not working.

When I walk in my bathroom and it just smacks me in the face that I don't need to ever take another wet washcloth off the shower rod. When I don't trip over boots in the kitchen. When I drive up to Starbucks, and feel a punch in my gut that when I finally have it in me to go to Moe's on my own again, it's gonna just be for my own salad. When I want to text him a good part of the day. When I want to see a movie we were supposed to see together. When I just need a fucking hug.

It all hurts, and throws me off kilter, and absolutely makes me cry.

Do I love that about myself? Obviously, no.

So I don't know what's next. I am taking it day by day. And I think that's the only thing to do with grief like this. You just, invite it in, sit with it, and hope that each day it gets smaller.

Each day, you do another thing that doesn't make you cry. Each day you do another thing that even makes you smile.

And you just keep moving towards whatever next is.

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