Exhaustion

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.

Back to Reality

I survived my first day back at work. Barely.

I woke up this morning before my alarm, having gotten very little sleep yet again. I wanted nothing more than to just lie in bed. It took every bit of energy to get up, get dressed, and go downstairs to face another day without Rick.

Rick used to watch me get ready in the morning. He would talk to me while I got dressed, did my hair, and put on makeup. His absence as I went through my morning routine gave me a pit in my stomach.

I made coffee and gave Tumbler his IV fluids. I cried. I gave myself a pep talk. I cried again. Before I left the house, I had an idea. I sifted through the literally HUNDREDS of love notes Rick wrote to me over the years and grabbed the simplest one:

He always called me "A" for short and it was a term of endearment from him to me. I took the note to work with me and put it in my office for encouragement.

My day was punctuated with little instances that stopped my heart, gave me shakes, or brought tears to my eyes. I pushed through and got done what needed to be done, but nothing extra. I left at 5 pm on the dot because I couldn't wait to get out of there. I hate the feeling that the whole world just keeps going as always when my heart feels so heavy inside of me.

When I explained to someone at work that I had not been there all of last week, she said, "Lucky you!" I wanted to scream curse words at her, but I just nodded and smiled.

Just as I left the building to head to my car for the drive home, it began to rain. It was so fitting and I just sat in my car for a minute, trying to choke back tears, preparing to head home to an empty house.

I'm exhausted. I haven't been sleeping enough to power through a day at full capacity. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I really hope it will be better than today.