Grief pulls me forward and drags me backwards at will. I feel almost normal, laughing and having a good time one day, then isolating in my bubble the next. My mind churns with questions, thoughts, daydreams, worries, and wishes.
I long to be among people, having conversations and laughter fill the long hours. I enjoy time spent away. I enjoy working and feeling useful. I enjoy telling stories and sharing fun moments. Then suddenly, like a flipped coin, I'm on the other side: thankful to be alone again at last where I can breathe and return to grieving. I cling to my solitude as though it was slipping away. I want to retire to my quiet, I want to curl up and be alone, I want to hurt where no one can see me.
The feeling of exhaustion consumes me. It's like a heavy blanket I can't shake. I feel too tired to wash my hair. Too tired to cook. Too tired to put gas in my car. Simple tasks are simple one day and so taxing the next. One more mindless hour of TV and tea or wash my hair? One more hour, I think, then I'll move. I stay in my chair with my blanket - the real one and the one made of exhaustion - and I don't move. I'm too tired. 4 in the afternoon or midnight... it doesn't matter.
Sometimes I'm up to any challenge. Usually once I get started, I'm good to go. It's the getting started that takes work.
Sometimes I feel so delirious that I stay in my chair with my cats and my blanket, just wishing nonsensically that someone would come and carry me up to bed. Take care of me. Tell me I don't have to go to work. Or even get dressed.
Why does this happen?
I'm ready to feel the lightness. The clarity. The energy back.
I know the ebb and flow, the push and pull, the back and forth is all part of this crazy game. But I'm ready to get off the roller coaster. I'm exhausted.