Frayed edges

frayed edges

“Becoming” is tough shit.  I’m tired of talking about my married life in the past tense.  Of censoring my conversation for fear of making someone uncomfortable.  I’m tired of trying to Netflix myself to sleep in my empty bed.  Of mustering the energy to get through every minute of every day.  I’m so tired of being in-between whatever was and whatever is going to be next.  I’m tired of loving my cats so much because they’re the ones snuggling with me at the end of the day.  … Momo is sleeping on me as I write this.

I’ve been tired for two years now.  I’ve been tired by myself for a year and a half.

I’m tired of figuring out how to ask for help, how to let people I love know that I need them.  I’m tired of carrying all of myself all the time.  Can I have some help?  Can I just let go for a second and know someone can hold me?

I have said multiple times and really believed that the second year of living without Sean has been less of a raw experience, and more of a burden of reality settling in.  I was wrong.  However familiar the feelings, I am still raw.  I don’t want to apologize for that anymore, or make myself “normal” for the sake of conversation.  It’s exhausting.  Nice packaging is burdensome.

I texted Sean’s number for the first time on Tuesday night.  Saying things in his direction has always felt awkward to me, until now.  I might send him messages more often.

5 thoughts on “Frayed edges

  1. Sarah, It is hard adjusting to widowhood. It was 3 years before I felt like my old self. What you are feeling is normal. And it’s OK to express those feelings. Blogging has been therapy for me. Pour out your emotions and hit the publish button! We will share your pain. Hang in there. I it does get better. I know!

  2. Sarah, thank you for sharing your heart. Not only is your writing beautiful, but it touches people in areas where they may be hurting or needing encouragement too. I’m praying that you’d feel a nearness and closeness – a tangible comfort that lulls you to sleep each night.

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