I Am Broken

Writing is my therapy. I have been writing the same thing over and over, trying to process what’s going on in my mind.

It’s a fucking mess up there.

I’ve almost gotten to a point where I think I should see an actual psychologist for this matter. Like, legitimately. My brain is swirling and swirling like a mass of word tornados.

I type.

I delete.

Why? I can’t share it. It doesn’t make sense to me, so how can I expect it to make sense to anyone else?

Writing is tricky for me. I write what I feel. I have never had any desire to hide what I feel or what I want to say.

Until now.

For the last few weeks, my heart, my mind, my very SOUL are all aching. I’m not sad. I am not angry. I feel the missing piece. I am entirely too emotional.

I even agreed to, then canceled a date, for tomorrow. I just don’t think it would be fair to the guy, because he’s so nice, and super cool. Maybe if I’d have met him at a different time.

I want the piece to my puzzle, and I can’t make any piece fit. It has to be the right one. Hell, just writing this is making me emotional. Maybe I need to quit listening to the old school slow jams, and get out of my feels.

Or maybe I need to get deeper into my feels, and examine. Is that REALLY what I am feeling? Or maybe I’m just overthinking everything? What is this, I feel? Is it Lust, Love, Infatuation, Hate, Curiosity, Fear, Excitement, Happiness, Confusion?

I mentioned this before, and I feel like it fits into this particular entry. I went on a date with an architect and he thought dating would be the last thing on my agenda, because of my “history”. Meaning my widowhood. I ALMOST took offense, but he doesn’t know me. Hell, I didn’t even know what I was about to say was 100% truth.

I’m young.

I am good alone, and I am enhanced in a relationship.

I am a giver. It’s in my nature. I like balance. It’s part of who I am. My 2 favorite genres of movies are horror movies and Christmas movies, if that helps explain my need for balance. HA

I told him, “I’m still young. I still function. And I don’t want to die old and alone. I don’t think my husband would want that for me, as it’s a sad life, for someone who doesn’t want it.”

So, with the thing I just keep typing and deleting, I hope I can figure it out. I just need to process. I’ll type it until it makes sense. I may get out an old school notebook and pen, and try to put words on paper, and figure out my mind. Have you ever tried to figure out a woman’s brain? Good Lord, me either. Only my own and usually it’s pretty easy. This… This is some major woman brain shit. I’m baffled and I can’t imagine being a man or a lesbian. Or anyone who dates women.

If most women are like I am in this moment, I apologize on behalf of my species of human. I have never not been able to process. We might be crazy. Every last one of us. (I feel like one of “those” girls. Even though that’s a bunch of bullshit some men say when a woman has opinions or feelings about ANYTHING.)

 

I WILL figure myself out. I am determined. I need a time-out.

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One of “Those” Girls

Being Open About Everything

Since the untimely death of my husband, I have become quite the over-sharer. I mean that in a good way. I talk a LOT. I explain everything.

I know, I know. I don’t need to explain myself to anyone for anything. I know. I don’t care.

However, when I see someone who I haven’t seen in a while, and they ask me where I have been, I tell them, and the shock on their faces and in their whole demeanor is crazy! I don’t mean to be so blunt, but there’s just no easy way to say it.

“Well, I was off of work for 3 and a half weeks, because my husband passed in January, and then I had to change my schedule, so I haven’t been able to work later than 3pm, on a regular basis.”

That’s why you never see me anymore.

I am the friend, that is trying to figure out how to stay healthy, care for my child, and for myself, as well as work full-time, and take care of everything.

Let me get real, real quick. This may be unbelievable, but, keep in mind, Mitch and I started dating when I was 17 years old. Hell, we moved in together when I was still 17. (any young ones reading, please, do not risk it! Not everyone is as lucky as Mitch and I were, and I wouldn’t change a thing about how we got and stayed together.)

I have NEVER, in all of my adult life, lived on my own. Never. I have never been responsible for paying bills, outside of my auto-deposited paychecks. I have never been in this situation before.  This is one hell of a learning curve. And there is no class for this. (well, I am sure there is, but it probably costs money.)

I have allotted dates from each month to have people over for a ladies night. I find these dates by going over my calendar and making sure that I don’t have a run scheduled that weekend, that I am not on call that weekend, and that I don’t have anywhere to be, early in the mornings that weekend. There’s a lot of thought that goes into planning my ladies’ nights. I may even host a poker night, soon. It’s sounding pretty Mitch-like. And poker nights were always a good time. So, Chuck, don’t go spending those quarters! I will take them off of your hands soon. 😉

Again, I just want to ask my friends and family to forgive me, and bear with me, while I figure all of this out. I may not come to your parties, or get-together, or I may plan my ladies night the same night that you have something planned, but that’s only because I only have that weekend free. It doesn’t mean I love you any less.

And for anyone who is reading, that doesn’t know me, but knows someone who is going through what I am going through, give them time to figure it all out. It’s a lot to process, and get through. Your friend doesn’t love you less. Your friend still wants you around. Your friend probably misses you. And your friend is probably exhausted all of the time. It’s okay. It takes time. And for some reason, there isn’t that extra couple of hours in each day, that should be automatic in the event of a spouse’s death.

Every widow should get an extra 2 hours, every night, just to sleep, or finish the dishes, or prep lunches for the next day. All of the things that may have been taken care of by the deceased partner, and the widow is now all on the widow. It’s overwhelming sometimes. It really and truly is.

I remember when we first moved into the apartment, I FORGOT to make dinner! Really?! I jumped up from the table and said, “Oh crap! I need to make dinner!” It was 7:30pm. Mitch cooked. I never made dinner. It was a running joke with Megan and Mitch, that “If Daddy ever left or died, I would starve, because Mommy doesn’t cook!” I cook. It’s another learning curve, but I will master it.

One day, I will have free time, again. It may not be soon, but it’ll come.

I have arranged extra time, for ME-TIME to start working out again. Baby steps in the right direction. That’s all we can hope for. Right?

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Mitch and my brother at my cousin’s wedding.