It's been a tough couple of days. This has been my life ---- long stretches of being ok and normal followed by sudden bursts of depression.
No one really gets to see it. I've become very good at hiding how I feel. The only one who ever senses it (and gives me a wide berth and lots of patience because of it) is John.
The insomnia's back. Long, late sleepless nights spent staring at the wall. Or writing in my journal. Days that are spent trying to catch up to lost sleep.
The short temper.
The tears.
I slipped in the laundry area again last night, wearing the same slippers I was wearing when I fell that awful night. In my anger and anguish I threw them in the trash. I'd burn them if I could. It reminded me of what happened. And I started wishing again that I never wore them that night. Or that I went up as soon as dinner was over. Or that I didn't got down at all.
Wishing for things that I cannot change. For things that, I know now, could not have changed anything.
The most awful realization I have had to make in my sad journey towards letting my babies go --- is that they were never mine to keep.
Awful, yet freeing at the same time.
May be one day this thought won't make my heart feel that it's being squeezed in a vise. May be one day, writing these words won't make me cry anymore.
May be one day I'll be able to bridge that distance and find peace.
A tenth of an inch doesn't seem that far.
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