Staring into the abyss
Of all the emotions that have followed my husband's death last spring, the most difficult to deal with has been the fear that I have lost my resiliency. I don't attribute this solely to my husband's death, though it was a huge blow, but I do wonder if it was the camel's straw. This week marked nine months (and three days as I sit down to write), and I'm still wandering around in a fog wondering what the hell I'm going to do with my "one wild and precious life." (The Summer Day, Mary Oliver)
I'm 48 years old for goodness sakes. I have no daily routines any more. I get overwhelmed by the simplest of household chores. Though I'm not gaining weight, I'm not practicing healthy eating and exercise habits. I'm not writing well. I just did an online blog quiz that gave me the result of an elementary school reading level for my blog. I do feel like I've lost my voice, and whatever I might have once had to say is now swirling around inside me in an inchoate mess. I'm intimidated by this economic mess and fear a future of nothing but poverty, frustration, disappointment and loneliness. I'm too young to feel this way and too old to feel like I have real chances to stop it.
I'm trying to stay positive and believe that I can turn this around. Then I hear that voice that says people don't really change and I let the garbage of failures, hurts and insults from the past fall all over me. My life feels neither wild nor precious, and sometimes I wonder if it's worth the fight. I just know I can't, won't give up, but it's hard to keep going between those increasingly rare moments of peace and joy.