A case of having to, or being made to do things means life will start to get back to ‘normal’; for instance, I have to go back to work instead of crying in my pit and occasionally dragging my carcass down the hall to grab more tissues. I have to start eating again, to live I guess and I have to start moving. I just imagine the kids peeling back my duvet to see their old mum fossilised into the sheets, probably too much thinking! But that’s why I need to find some balance of ‘normality’.
I have very good friends and family, you know who you are. Those are the ones that drag you back from your very own vortex of self pity, anger and sadness, mixed heavily with a virtual need to throat punch anyone who steps in your path. Surely I’m not the only one who thinks violence could be therapeutic, a means to ending the unreasonableness of the situation and a way of getting answers, though torture is illegal, but I guess so is violence!
On Day 6 I still have no real idea of what my husband meant by ‘I don’t know what I want’, which is why my life right now feels inert. I am trying to move on but without answers it just breeds frustration and resentment, hence my consideration to violence.
I’m trying to come to terms with the course each day takes, the highs and lows that each day will bring, and the strong and the weak moments I’ll have to face alone. However, today I have laughed a lot. The one thing I do recommend is a friend who is honest, brutally in my case, nonetheless honest. They can instantly take the sting out of being dumped, get you focused and quite frankly make you paranoid about other areas of your life you never even thought about. But it takes you away from dwelling constantly on, as I’ve so elegantly put it in a previous blog, a stagnant pool of piss.