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Staying Strong While Drowning.
The latest entry is May 22, 2017
Living with you lost.
I've always been a morning person. Go figure. Now my first thoughts on waking aren't even thoughts. They're a sinking, stomach churning slide into realisation teemed with a bonus slam to the head of fear and guilt.
I read that ' mourning is the new morning' on one of those grief support pages. Wasn't that catchy? Wasn't that clever? Don't I hate how that is now my new truth.
I wonder how long mornings are going to bring me to my knees with their unrelenting dose of reality. It's been a month. How many more mornings before I consider it's just not worth waking at all. Which is not an option but a girl can dream.
One day will I spring out of bed with anticipation not even realising that my partner of 15 years is not where he's supposed to be?
Grief is a process. I know that because I've endured this shit twice before and because people don't forget to tell me and because it's in all the shiny brochures I keep receiving in the mail. I hate that it's a process. I hate that people look at me with pity and an inkling of fear at what ' stage' I might be in today. I hate that my new mantra is ' I am strong' .
What if I wasn't? Instead of people saying ' you're so strong' would they say ' Well you're a bit of a wuss aren't you then?' I love these people. They are my rocks but I wish they didn't have to be.
Will my journals be bright and cheery in the evening and gloomy and tortured in the morning? Will people check the time they were written before they read them? I hope they do, I hate mornings. I hate mourning. And I hate more than anything that you're not here.
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