Open wounds...

I always hesitate to post these blogs when the blackness comes but what the hell. Might as well share it with everyone in cyberspace.

There is a gaping empty space in me and I don’t know how to fill it. I keep trying. I have recently tried to fill it with a similar size and shape and comfortable alleged object of affection, only to discover that this would not do. Not only is it not fair to try to make someone fit in the place of someone else, it just doesn’t work. And the gaping space is still left there, the edges even more ragged because the fit wasn’t right and pieces were torn off when the object would not fit. And I’m afraid I’ve damaged the alleged object of affection irreparably in the process.

Tonight, that space is an open, ragged wound, aching and bleeding, refusing to let me rest. It’s actually been aching for a while and I mistook the aching for something else, which led to a head full of confusion. But I see what it is tonight – it is made up of grief and pain and anger and fear and sadness and so, so much more pain and anger and fear and on and on and on.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t going to be alone and empty at 43. I wasn’t supposed to be figuring my life out all over again, for the second or third or fourth time. But he couldn’t even give me the time to make that choice, he took even that choice away from me.

I don’t know how to fill this wound or at least staunch the blood. I keep wanting to find someone to staunch it for me but I know it’s up to me to figure that solution out. But for tonight, all I can do is let it bleed and let it weep and, hopefully, when I wake up tomorrow, there will be the beginnings of a scab over the wound. And maybe once this weekend is through and I get through Sunday, Monday may be easier, maybe the wound will be less achy and start to heal. Or maybe I’ll be here again in a week, bleeding and weeping and hopeless.