As I sit here crying this Christmas morning for the life I lost and the love I lost, I can’t help but wonder what things would have been like today if Dave were still here. It’s masochistic. It’s probably even a step backwards. But I hardly ever let myself go down that road. I know it’s only a form of self-torture, and so I do my best to avoid those thoughts. But it’s Christmas morning. And I’m crying. And there’s something terribly wrong with the world I live in.
I’m sad. I get that this is the way it is and I need to move on. But I’m still sad. I still long to hear from him, to touch him, to snuggle with him, to hear him call me ‘babe’ and press his cheek against my forehead. I still long for that life we wanted to live together. And I’m still confused as to why I will never have that life. I keep trying to hit ‘reset.‘ I keep trying to push through the forlorn thoughts that come with the intrinsic sadness of a broken heart. But a broken heart doesn’t mend as quickly as a bone. It weeps into the rest of your body. It will always have a weakness. It will always remember it’s own vulnerability. My broken heart still calls for Dave and it gets weaker and sadder each time he doesn’t answer. I think I am broken.
I’m not sure I can explain what it feels like to live with a broken heart. Much of what I do everyday feels forced and empty. I’m still here and yet my connection is gone. It left with Dave. I nearly died during those first few weeks. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t stop the tightness in my chest. Nothing would ease any of the angst and turmoil that burned and seared through my body and my mind. At moments I felt my heart would just burst, erupt, combust – just go into a studden fluttering and state of shock and stop working all together. It was incredibly painful for days on end – my whole body was in torment. And I remember it all to this day – that pain. That was the worst thing I have ever had to live through.
Dave brought out my soft side and since he left, I have a difficult time locating it. I could be vulnerable with him, because I knew he would never hurt me and would never let anyone hurt me. But then it’s confounding that the greatest pain of my life comes from loving him.
I keep trying so hard to do things that make me happy. I’m trying to get committed to my life again. I try to find other enjoyment or even some conviction to my every day. For the life of me it’s still not happening. I’m still not here. When? I keep asking when will I feel alive again? When will I give a shit again? When will my heart stop being so afraid to become involved in my own existence again? I’m trying to be patient, but living like this sucks. It’s no real kind of life. And I know people who have been here before say that I just have to go through it, but when will it be over? Will it ever be over? This torture is exhausting. But I can’t forget about it. I can’t just let it all go. I love him. I still love him. And I’m constantly fighting an inner battle between the truth and what I remain to crave. I know all too well the strength I have and the strength I must always call on. And I knew Christmas was going to be tough. It’s a day like any other, but it’s also not. We’re supposed to spend it with our loved ones. Dave should be here. We should be opening presents together. We should be sleeping in together. We should be going out together. We should be having our life together. He should be hugging me and saying Merry Christmas to me as we sit and … sigh … it’s just torture.
My hope is that conviction finds me in the new year. My hope is that I embrace my ability to love. My hope is that I find a way to let him go – even though I don’t want to – even though I’m terrified of my life without him – I know that if I want to truly live again it’s what I must do.