I promised myself that I’d keep writing no matter what. To keep pushing through the resistance and be persistent when I least want to be.
Well, this is the time that I have to dig deep and find the strength to keep going. Post breakup, I’ve had to search every crevice within for that spark. It’s so dark in there I can’t fucking find “it”, let alone the desire to do anything. It’s been a struggle. Then again, it’s only been a week so I should stop being so hard on myself right?
So I gave (and give) myself permission to just write. Write about anything that comes up and if I get worried someone out there will read and judge me, so be it. Zero fucks given. Well okay, maybe just a few.
I’ve been coming home every night and crying. I’ve had pizza and wine two nights in a row followed by a long ass train ride back home, holding back the tears (very unsuccessful). I never thought I’d be a 34 year old grown ass woman crying over a breakup. But here I am: lost, heartbroken, and trying to find my footing. For the second time mind you (I’m divorced but that’s for another post at another time and frankly, I don’t have the strength to go into THAT right now).
You know what it feels like? Like I’m a spider’s meal, attempting to escape the cobweb that’s holding me hostage. Nothing that I reach for makes me feel better. My soul is like a bottomless pit and no matter what I do (or how many pizzas I eat and glasses of wine I gulf down), it still feels fucking empty. And of course, just when I think I’ve reached some kind of solace, my mind begins projecting memories of him – sweet, loving memories that make me feel even more like shit because he’s not around anymore. Way to go Helen. I can’t help it. It’s uncontrollable and somewhere deep inside I know that this is the ride I need to be on. There’s no escaping it, no hopping off.
So for now, I’ll stay on it until the conductor of life let’s me know it’s time to get off.