I wish I could unplug my brain.
No work at work to distract me, so I took a mental health day. I am sick, after all, sick with grief. And if I can’t be distracted anyway, I’d rather be home, where I am free to lose control. Or, maybe, I knew he’d be here, and I could force the deadline, exercise some control over the inevitable, even before the possibility of final resolution/dissolution, a “meeting” scheduled for Saturday evening. I don’t know if he does, but I have an agenda.
I managed to last 30 minutes at work before the tears came. The tears have been there on the periphery for days, weeks, maybe months, waiting for me to relinquish control, held back, ignored, unacknowledged by anger, resentment, disappointment, disillusionment. And once they started, they would not stop. The dam has been blocked for too long.
I guess the mourning process has begun. Seven stages, is it? Anger. Denial. Acceptance. Is it only 3 stages? Don’t know, don’t care. Sadness?
What am I mourning? There was never anything there, nothing real. All in my head, my heart.
Hope. Expectation. Surprise. Adventure. Change. Connection.
Now, realization. And the daunting task of starting over. Somewhere else. That, I knew a long time ago (and have come to accept??? again, recently), was inevitable. As always, though, I wanted it to be on my timetable, my terms.
But it – life – rarely is, right?