Aching. Constantly. Blinking back tears. Practicing my responses. How are you? I can’t sell I’m great under the judgmental stares, so I decide on fine. I’m fine! Changing the subject to talk about them. People love to talk about themselves and it usually is bearable from there.
How does this get better? Time, I suppose, but we still need to start over. Then, when am I shown that I need to move on completely? How do I know? I already know. I just can’t succumb to it.
Feelings would be easier if they were in beakers; carefully measured out with a finite amount of liquid. Instead, I think it’s over and while I’m cooking breakfast before work, I lose it. My husband leaves another day for work with the image of me choking back my failures. Why can’t I get it together for him?
How can I make it stop? My greatest joy in life is bringing others happiness, but when I’m alone, it’s no longer a reprieve. It’s darkness.
Snap out of it. I say it 500 times each day to myself. I think to myself of everything I have, about different legacies to leave other than children, and try to be something great.
Then, I am reminded. And it starts again.