Where is the break room?
I’ve survived my first work week at my new place. I barely slept my first night here. I woke up with a stomachache the next morning from all the anxiety I had experienced all night. I started taking meds for anxiety again to help myself adjust to the new place and it seems to have worked, thankfully.
I feel trapped in the story of my life right now. I try desperately to tell other stories but there is only one story that seems to have all my attention and that is the story of the love of my life’s passing. I can’t stop talking about it. I worry that I’m boring people with the same story but it’s really the only story I have to tell. I have nothing else to talk about.
I cried today thinking of just how not ready I am to meet any new people right now. I’m not prepared to talk about any new stuff. There is no new stuff that makes this pain any better. So I feel like I will have to keep talking about this pain until one day when it hurts a little less. I don’t think it will ever stop hurting. Those who’ve been on their own grief journeys say it doesn’t go away you grow around it.
Sometimes I get the urge to spend money recklessly just to feel anything but this pain. There’s a high that comes with spending money recklessly but thank heavens I’ve still got some sense to know I’ll regret that so I submit myself to the pain and the urge passes. Any crazy urge that I get is usually just me trying to avoid feeling the pain. I never thought I’d feel a pain so constant and so relentless. I’m not even exaggerating when I say my heart is ALWAYS breaking. Even in moments of joy the pain is there, lurking.
If you’re bored of my stories of my grief trust me, I’m more bored. Be thankful you’re not in my shoes. I feel suffocated by it. I wish I could crawl out of my skin just to catch a break.
