grief might as well be smoke
It’s bad enough that this grief is so oppressive, but I realized tonight that there’s no true reprieve. I’ve accepted it will be with me forever, but I’ve clearly underestimated how exhausting it is to constantly be pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. Tonight as I was crying at the kitchen counter over missing Pete, it occurred to me that absolutely nothing can save me from this. All I want is the kind of hug I could get from him, the kind where I felt cared for and safe. Now I cry alone in my kitchen and wish I had someone to love me. But not just any someone. I want him. I know I could go out and meet someone new who would stack my firewood and kill spiders and make sure the water heater gets serviced. But if Pete can’t be doing those things then I’d rather just do them for myself. If I can’t have Pete, I don’t really want anyone. I’m in a whole new love affair with myself and just trying to figure my shit out, I can’t even fathom having time for love anytime in the next decade.
But god is it lonely not having some kind of reassurance that things are going to be okay. He was so grounding for me. He was the tether to my kite. The only thing that has ever been able to truly calm me down from my catastrophizing spirals or my guilt-ridden sobfests was his embrace. Without him I’m just kind of floating around in space, doing my best. But I wonder if I’ll ever feel grounded and safe again. I assume eventually I’ll figure out how to do that for myself, but right now it feels lonely and cold and my body is tired from having to right this ship so damn often lately.
Sometimes grief is cool mist, but right now it’s thick fog. It might as well be smoke; I can’t stop choking on it lately. I feel the pressure inside me building and building from having to stuff my sadness down. I know I shouldn’t be doing it and frankly I wish I wasn’t doing it, but I’m not sure how to stop. I know it’ll only lead to an explosion, and I know it’s just around the corner, but I still keep averting my eyes and crying in secret and pretending everything is fine. It’s not helping anyone. But it’s getting me through the day and sometimes with what it takes to raise these kids, that’s the best I can do.