One Hard Day

Written September 14th, 11:30 p.m.

Today was a hard day. I woke up after only three and a half hours of sleep feeling like someone had punched me in the gut. I wanted to go back to sleep. I tried to go back to sleep. It didn’t work.

So, I got up. It may not have been the hardest thing I did all day, but it was quite an accomplishment. I wouldn’t have done so if not for a doctor’s appointment. It was too late to call and cancel it, so I left the comfort and security of my covers.

I think this is the first (and probably only) time I have enjoyed the wait in the reception area. I thumbed through a magazine dated from February of last year. It had Valentine’s treats and cards on the cover. I probably should have caved at the sight, but I didn’t link it to my current situation. I didn’t really read it either. I looked at the pictures, the clothing and accessories, the craft ideas. I didn’t think of Sexy for 45 minutes.

I went back to my house after my visit. I hate driving. I think too much when I drive. Mom and Dad were both waiting for me when I walked in the door. Mom knew something was up right away. I didn’t have to say a word and she knew. She prodded as mothers are prone to do. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it. Talking about it means thinking about it. I didn’t want to think about it.

I guess you don’t always get what you want because, despite the fact that I refused to talk about it, I kept thinking these thoughts. I thought about how I finally understood how people can die from a broken heart. I never really understood it before. I thought I did, but I really had no clue. When the pain is so intense that you vomit, then you start to understand.

The rest of my day was filled with small misfortunes. A missed deadline here, a lost item there. I didn’t even have the strength to get upset. My mom was there with me through it all. She tried to help carry my burden, but I wasn’t ready to share. I felt like a sweater, all frayed and worn, and releasing one iota of my rigid control would unravel me. I knew that my mom felt my pain and talking about it would help heal her, and I wanted to. I didn’t want her to be worried about me. I couldn’t, however.

I picked my kids up from my ex tonight. I was worried about it. I didn’t feel as if I was up to facing them. I just wanted to sink back into bed and sleep. Only sleep wasn’t an option. They needed me. I needed them too. I didn’t even realize it until I got them home. I held them, played with them, smiled with them. I healed a little. I still have a long way to go, but it was a start.

I feel proud of myself for getting through the day. It was so hard, and I still ache so much. My bed still beckons me along with the blissful, empty slumber I’ll find there. I just wish I wasn’t so afraid of tomorrow. I’ll have to wake up again. I’ll have to leave my cocoon of oblivion again. But for now, I don’t have to think about it. I made it through today. I made it through today.