The quiet takes a toll. The quieter the house is, the louder my soul screams. One moment I was contently sewing away, the next I was sobbing in the powder room. There is no warning. It sneaks up on me like the biggest sucker punch.
So then I have to make some choice. Am I headed towards a panic attack? There a script that helps me with that. Did I take my daily antidepressant? Can I pour 1 glass of wine and walk away from the bottle? But shhhhhhhhhh. You see in proper societal circle, we don't dare speak of such things. People don't mind hearing about your tears, but they don't want to hear the dirty details.
Faithful Catholic daughters don't need medication, they need faith. Wives with loving husbands need to have a quick cry and move on. Moms of beautiful daughters just need hug and everything will be ok. And a good friend needs a second glass of wine and an evening of bitching/laughing. But what none of those roles want to recognize is depression and anxiety are physical as well as emotional. They are terrifying waves that hit out of nowhere. It's not just feeling sad. Some moments I pray for the next breath, then I am astounded that I am able to take that breath despite the pain.
Grief is ugly. I will not live up to your expectations, but I'm ok with that. As long as I keep drawing my next breath, that's good enough some days. If you need me, I'll be in my nest on the couch with a dog and a coffee spiked with Bailey's. Tomorrow I'll crawl back out all for the love of one sweet little angel. #doitforcj
This is a tear-jerker one for me cause I've been there. I love the little picture. You are not alone honey. Many of us are under those blankets with you hoping and helping you find your way through grief.
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