Sometimes, when I have a quiet, alone moment, I begin to wonder how on earth I’m finding the energy to be happy, go to work and get life done.
Sometimes I think it’s lucky I can’t stop, because if I stopped, I’d fall apart. I rely on momentum to keep myself together. cetrivical force or something, maybe, I’m no physicist…
I still feel like I have jars of Unshed tears on my shelf of grief from the losses over the last 3 years, and I just don’t feel I have the time to let them out. If Wednesday had died last week, o could call in sick and cry for a few hours. But it was nearly a year ago… And not everyone understands how grief works. There’s no finite time for grief to be finished by. There’s socially acceptable timelines, but they’re pretty unrealistic for most.
I watch myself operate sometimes and just think “stop, girl. Stop pretending you’re ok” but I always respond that I can’t stop. Animals need to be fed, houses need to be cleaned, bills need to be paid. And I hate that both me’s are right. And I think that’s what makes it so tough for so many people. Whichever is the stronger of the 2, wins the battle and the cycle continues. You either continue to wear yourself out, or you continue to collapse in a heap and let life crumble around you. Both of these options are fine, but the need to be balanced out by the other option and all the grey area inbetween.
I’m gonna take my medication, get back up from the bed and go to work now. The horses are fed, the cats are fed, the dogs are fed, my face is done, the house is a mess and I’m not even remotely fed… But it’s Friday. And supposed to rain all weekend. So couch time is inevitable. Featuring, perhaps, tears. Which might be nice.