It's been a while since I've posted. I keep thinking about writing, and have actually written a couple entries just for myself. We just passed the third Christmas and New Year's without John. I have someone in my life that brings me comfort, giggles, a bit of passion, and a lot of help. I feel that I pull into myself more now than I did before my loss.
I remember talking with my therapist about how his death would affect me and my life, and how I talked with John about that too...and John was annoyed, saying that he wasn't an extra in my life story. But my therapist said that he really kind of was...everyone is an extra in your life story. That's how it goes. So I was an extra in his life story. And so on.
I know forward motion is good. I know always remembering him is good. I'm pretty close to happy. And I'm still carrying my bad habits. I want to start to take better care of myself, and feel like my small house is an excuse not to do so.
I am crumbles of what I was, before and even with him. Like candle wax that melted and was scraped up. The uneven chunks have hair and fuzz and dirt stuck in them, and still smell beautiful.
I look for beauty wherever I can. I seek out ways to be grateful. I see it all and feel it deeply. And still, I pull inward. I know I am not alone in this centripetal spiral.
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I spin on centripetal spirals
of self love and self loathing sliding
into cavernous cages
flanked by flames and a spell to stymie
screams, create a crust and crumble
the wax of your heart
till it spills across table tops and seeps into
wood floors
With a plastic, rectangular white scraper
your hands attempt to reclaim the seepage
rubbing against the grain
till the smooth hot viscous mass, softens, solidifies and, in scraping,
becomes crumbles
crusted with bits of cat hair, tinsel, dust...
a pile of uneven bits of malleable chemical compound
scented and brightly colored
now trash
unless
fingers firm and fearful
pick out the biggest bits
perhaps you can place the pieces
in a new container
without a wick
it still melts and sends the sent spinning
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I want to hope for my future. I want to lose weight as I am very near morbid obesity. I want to believe in life. I know I believe in love, community, gratitude. I wish these were enough. But I'm still so closed off. I pull inward. I don't know what to do with my conflicting desires to care for myself and to continue existing in a moderately unhealthy manner. I'm not sharing this on facebook. This one isn't for the general public. I don't think I have any widow readers, but if I do, it's for you. And if you are there, and have thoughts, but not advice, I'd be happy to hear them. I'm SO much better than I was. The pain is so much duller...it's become sadness. But oh, it is still my constant companion. I promise not to give up. But this is much bigger than anything else I have ever done. And so that won't look like other "not giving up" things I've done. There will be backslides and forward leaps and side steps galore. I promise to not push until I'm ready, but to keep reaching and trying. I can do that. I promise also to try not to think of my back slides as ways I try to hurt myself. Even if they are. Because I don't like to think that way. I hope to find a way to a place in myself where even my subconscious doesn't like to think that way.
May we be well, may we be happy, may we be at peace.
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