This is Real Life

I’m not entirely sure what the “typical” or “normal” process is when trying to navigate life after catastrophe strikes. I just know what I’ve personally been experiencing and it makes me feel crazy. It feels like everything is extreme – the happiness I feel is just off the charts and wildly amazing and the sadness I feel makes me want to hide under my covers and never come out again.

I’ve drafted several blogs that I haven’t published, for a variety of reasons. Mostly, though, it’s because I just wanted to write and get it out of my head. Sometimes I worry that you will worry about me after reading my words.

I am okay. I will be okay.

And because I know this to be true about myself, I wanted to give you pieces of blogs I’ve written, just to show you exactly how all over the place my emotions are – and how quickly they change from moment to moment throughout the days and weeks.

Perhaps you’re dealing with your own stress and feel a bit “crazy,” too. Perhaps your feelings jump from one to the next to the next, from one extreme to the other, in a matter of hours – or even minutes.

You are not alone. You are not crazy. This is grief. This is real life.

The following draft was written 4 days ago:

Today was a really wonderful day. I woke up to a beautiful view, got an amazing workout in, worked a good bit, had a great doc appointment to try and get my leg issues/cramping under control so I can workout without pain again someday, and then got bonus time with my daughter in the evening. We went to listen to live music on the patio of a restaurant/bar with new friends, magnificent weather, and a perfect view of the mountains in the distance.

I sighed contentedly all day long. 

It wasn't until a little after 7 pm that I realized the date. And you know what? I smiled. Four months ago, I was set free. I didn't realize it then. And sometimes I forget it now. But my whole soul has shifted. I feel like a whole new woman and I feel so much lighter.

The biggest change that I keep coming back to is how unafraid I am. I have no fear of rejection or of being hurt and let down by another person. Literally none. I have no fear about going places by myself. In fact, there are many times where I'm quite excited to go to a bar or restaurant solo. 

I have met so many wonderful people. I have had conversations filled with substance. There have been many chats where I'm left chewing on the words for hours - and even days - afterwards. 

I have met couples that renew my faith in the possibility of love. I have met strangers that have treated me more kindly than I've been treated in years. And these strangers have quickly turned into friends. 

I'm reminded, almost daily, that people are good. 

This was written just two days later, the night before last:

I wonder how long it'll be before I feel a sense of normality again. I wonder when my ex's words will stop hurting. I wonder how long it'll take before I stop internalizing the garbage he spews at me. I wonder how long before I can stop letting him get to me. I wonder when my emotions will stop fluctuating from the highest highs to the lowest lows. 

I wonder when my eyes will stop being puffy from crying so much.

I wonder why, after 124 days, I still feel every minute detail of this pain.

I wonder when it will all stop feeling so heavy.

And then it occurs to me why it's all so dark. Actually, a friend pointed this out to me today. The awful part of our marriage, the incessant emotional abuse, hasn't stopped. And I can't block him from contacting me because he needs to be able to get in touch with me in case of an emergency with our daughter. 

Our daughter. 

The one that is around when he lashes out at me. The one that is there to hear all the ugliness spewing from his mouth. The one that, according to him, should hear it all because she should know "these things" about her mother.

So now I'm worried. The psychological and emotional trauma I have received over the last 6 or so years is not only being witnessed by our daughter, she's now on the receiving end of it, also.

I had to tell her that when daddy talks to mommy, she needs to plug her ears and go away.

Why do I have to say that to my daughter?!

I wonder...when will this all end? When will he leave me alone? I'm not his to attack anymore. 

Well, I never was, but I allowed it for so long that it's now a natural way of treating me.

I no longer know what to do. 

I'm sick of living in the dark.  

The ups and the downs are constant. I spent most of lunch with a friend the other day crying. In public. Tears streaming down my face, shamelessly.

Because this is real life. People cry. They hurt and they feel pain. And they laugh through the tears and they get up every morning and brush their teeth and start their day, so they can hopefully catch a glimpse of joy during the day. Or hit the jackpot and have a banner day.

Like I did yesterday.

It seems as though so much of living used to intimidate me. Or maybe it was that I felt like I had to be this ultra responsible, no nonsense person to offer a counter balance to the lack of boundaries and relative irresponsibility of my ex. Looking back, I think I felt stifled, like I couldn’t be free to really be me because I always had to be the “responsible one.” So then I became the boring one.

I don’t have to be that person anymore! I can be free to be spontaneous and truly live! I am doing things now that I never would’ve done before – like going to places alone, chatting it up with strangers, going to outdoor bars to listen to music by myself (well, my daughter was with, too), and joining a random group of strangers to hike up a mountain together for over 8 hours.

This wave I’m riding is wild and turbulent. I fluctuate from feeling like I’m doing a killer job surfing it and am nailing this whole living life thing to feeling like the wave is drowning me.

Yet, I’m still here, riding that wave. I refuse to give up. I refuse to allow it to keep me down. I will not drown in the sea of my tears. I’m hopeful this sea will calm eventually, that the wave will be something like you’d perhaps find in a kiddie pool rather than in the middle of an ocean during a storm…I’m hopeful.

Some days it’s a little harder to have hope, it’s a wisp floating by that is just out of touch. Other days, it’s this big, fluffy, beautiful entity that embraces me and I don’t have to worry about trying to chase it down.

The moments fluctuate – constantly. From the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. It’s almost impossible to process, which is why I write. It’s why I see my therapist. It’s why I break down at lunch with a friend and then keep crying so much throughout the day that my eyes are still puffy the next morning. It’s why I find extreme joy in the little things and can’t help but exclaim, “Wow!” over and over again when I see the beauty that surrounds me. It’s why I get out of bed, out of my house, and go away as often as I can – even if it’s for a walk.

I want a sense of normalcy again, whatever that is.

It’s been 126 days now. There are days where the emotional exhaustion from just living the moments and riding this volatile wave are so heavy, that I physically feel it to the point that it is difficult to walk upright. I literally lean on things to help me take another step.

And there are other days where I feel so buoyant and light and free that I feel like I could just float away into the bliss that surrounds me.

Then there are those days where both those feelings take turns, bouncing from pure radiant joy to utter misery, within hours of each other. (Those days are great fun! *rolls eyes*)

If I take a step back, however, I realize this is all just a side-effect of living. If we are to live, to sincerely and authentically invest in our souls and live to our fullest potential, we all experience a wide range of emotions – throughout our day, the week, the year. Perhaps it is all just a bit more intense now, due to the nature of this beast that has temporarily taken up residence in my space.

Yes, temporarily. Nothing is permanent. This wave I’m riding surely isn’t.

And thankfully, little by little, I’m realizing that I’m not actually living in the dark, though at times it may feel as though it’s impossible to see an inch in front of me. The good days, the beautiful moments, are slowly starting to outshine the shadowy gloom. I’m carrying a flashlight that’s ready to illuminate my world in a wondrous glow.

I just have to remember to turn it on.