Three months on you might be astounded by my ability to continue on living, laughing and opening my heart to world. On the other hand, you might secretly think that I am some kind of heartless bitch (that should get hit by a bus as one commenter pointed out) for getting on with my life.
If you could see inside of me, you would be astounded by the difference between the outside and the inside. You might be able to glimpse how painful it is to be blind-sided by sadness and hurt at random moments. Words, places, smells, noises, tastes, and sensations all remind me of the life I once had that is now irrevocably over and the fall-out from the way that it ended.
First spouses, I have learned, don’t ever really go away — even if you aren’t speaking to them any more. They are phantoms who dwell in the corners of our new love stories, never entirely vanishing from sight, materializing in our minds whenever they please, offering up unwelcome comments or bits of painfully accurate criticism […] He is an avatar who probes and debates and reconsiders from a thousands different angles an eternal docket of unfinished business. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert “Committed”
So instead of boring you with my sad, sad stories, I fight. Some days, having a shower and getting dressed is an almost insurmountable mountain that takes all my strength to conquer. When the thought of making conversation with anyone at all leaves me feeling nauseous, I try to simply smile at a stranger.
And no, I haven’t “worked out” in months and I have eaten to numb my feelings and it shows on my body, but in spite of all of that I will not stand of judgement of myself because there are plenty of others, living and dead, who have taken on that job. Sometimes, having the perfect body/life takes second place to having a single day where I don’t even glimpse the wound in my heart which is still raw and bleeding.