I’m floating, coping, healing. I’m ok. Until I’m not.

I still have days or moments where I fall on my arse, the ones that knock the wind out of me. I have internal arguments with myself. The script is always the same. Heart vs Brain.
My brain knows he’s not coming back but my heart feels incomplete. He should be home by now.

It’s on those days where I feel like I’ve tricked myself into thinking I’ve been working through all of this. I accuse myself of just treading water this whole time. My legs are fucking tired and sometimes I just can’t keep going with this act.

It’s not an act though, not really. For the most part, I am alright. But these days, these moments… Fuck.

I don’t necessarily wake up that way. Something usually sets me off and it’s different every time. A line in a song. A whole song. Seeing someone do something sweet for their partner. A memory flashback brought on by something familiar. I even cried one day because I got a groupon email and couldn’t buy a coupon for a dinner out that we’d planned to go to. Mexican, his favourite.

It’s unpredictable and makes no sense because something that might not affect me one day has the opposite effect on another day. I can’t pick the times. I can’t control when I’m going to be trampled with that grief. It sneaks up on me and sits right there,  bang smack in that part of my heart that missing. Not filling the void, just aggravating the empty space. This creates a chain reaction. Stupid bloody eyes, quit your leaking. You’re giving me away.

I still have realisations that come out of nowhere occasionally.
OH MY GOD, he’s not coming back!?!? I can’t show him something, ring him, laugh with him, hug him, kiss him, hold him. That will never again happen in this life time. Like, EVER. So now what? How is that possible?

To say I try really hard to be this positive being would be an understatement. I mean, I love being in that state of mind and so when I’m there, I can keep it going for a while. But then a moment happens and it’s a real struggle to get back there. I feel like I keep tripping on my shoelaces and it’s all just too much. The effort it takes to get back there when I’ve tripped is hard and the mountain I have to climb again is so huge that I just sit there at the bottom, in my grief.

I just have to allow it. Add to the scar. Feel the hurt until it ebbs a bit and I can climb back out of it. Sometimes this takes all day. Sometimes it takes an hour. Sometimes, I can fall and climb back up in minutes. But it feels the same. My heart is heavy and it throbs painfully as if it’s been punched.

I try hard not to let those moments define me, define the time I’ve got left however long that may be. I don’t want to be sad. I don’t want to fall. I want to be ok.