I barely feel human.
And at the same time feel all too human.
The pain and the hurt are overwhelming.
I am not a nice person to be around right now. I spent the last two days in a car with my mother and two cats, driving seventeen hundred miles through four states so that I could be surrounded by family. The drive was uncomfortable. Silent and awkward. Too many thoughts and the emptiness of the landscape. My mother stuck, for there are no words of comfort in a time like this. And still, knowing that, I acted like a sullen teenager.
I am avoiding my friends, the people who are desperate to help me through this. I can’t bear the thought of sharing my misery. And it’s especially difficult, given how scattered everybody is. That long drive in the car emphasized exactly how far away from my loved ones I am. It’s difficult to sit on a couch with a bottle of wine and escape into nothingness in the company of your dearest friends over the phone.
Not that each and every one of them haven’t offered to do just that. But the fact is, I don’t have a home at the moment. I don’t have my very own space to curl up in. To avoid reality. To wait out the pain, to let the numbness settle in.
The past week is a blur. There was a list a mile long of pesky details that needed to be dealt with. And I unwillingly dealt with them all. And now I am left with the emptiness. The questions. The anger. The doubts. The pain. The loneliness. The love that no longer has a place in this world.
It’s a sorry state to be in. I don’t like being here. I hate that I am dragging others into it, especially during this time of year. But I can’t pull myself out of it. I don’t have it in me just yet.
The emptiness abounds. For now.