Last night was a bad night. The worst in quite some time. I don't know why. There was no rhyme or reason to it. No triggering event. It just happened.
("Feel what you feel, " says Lou. "It's OK.")
Sad should be sleepy, tired. I think of words like depression and sorrow, and I imagine weighty lethargy, not being able to get out of bed. Heaviness, stillness, the quicksand experienced just before waking.
That's not my sadness. I am wired sad. Manic. Awake. Panicky. Anxious.
I worry. I pace. I do laundry. I write. I cry.
I cannot sleep.
Usually, writing helps. It's where I channel the jittery energy. Allow the sadness to become grounded. Lets the exhaustion be absorbed, so I can finally shut my tired eyes.
Last night it didn't help. So I woke my husband up at 3 am and sobbed in his arms. It was a nonsensical litany of sadness.
I couldn't save Harper. I lost patience with Shea. I can still feel the baby kick. I don't want to celebrate holidays. We need to scatter Harper's ashes. I am just so tired. I am just so sad and I don't know why. I hate that I can't control how or when it hits me. I am just. So. Sad. I can't stop crying. I am so sorry.
And Lou helped. Being held, having him whisper equally nonsensical reassurances. It didn't make me less sad, but it helped me stop crying. Made the dark less dark, less hectic. Finally, I could sleep.
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