Behind Closed Doors

With the exception of a brief intermission to walk a 5k, I spent the day alone. It was a “one step back” kind of day. I awoke from a nightmare where X had been explaining that he left me because I expected too many breakfast burritos. It’s comical to write but the dream was dead serious.

Nightmares where I relive his abandonment are a staple of this hellscape I’m in. They used to be nightly. Now they’re just a few times a week. But this one really shook me. I was at fault for his leaving and so I woke up with the anxiety and shame, feeling the burden of blame.

The morning went slowly as I struggled to get things done around the house. It’s going on the market this week and I’ve been so overwhelmed by all I have to do that I’ve shut down. I got a few boxes of books packed to reduce the look of clutter. But that was all I accomplished in four hours.

After the 5k I picked up my groceries from clicklist. I don’t go into the grocery store if I can help it. It’s so anxiety producing, all the people. I feel like I’m going to come around the corner and come face to face with him or the twatwaffle. When I got home, I was supposed to make lasagna for a friend who’s dad just passed away. But my head was throbbing from the strenuous 5k in the sun. And I felt so stressed out by all I had to do that I shut down again.

At 7:00 I tried to muster the energy to do one task on my list – pack up my yarn shelves. To do this I needed to put everything into large sterilite containers to store in the shed. They were stacked one inside the other. I tugged and pulled and nudged and banged and couldn’t make them budge an inch. The frustration welled up inside of me so strongly that it all came pouring out in long, wrenching, agonizing screams. I wish I even knew how to convey in words the intensity of my complete frustration over where I was at that moment. Stuck. Unable to move forward even a fraction on getting ready for the realtor. Still underwater in my grief over the intense betrayal of the man I loved so deeply. On top of that is the grief over losing my dog. I felt so alone and frustrated that I might even need to ask for help to separate the damn sterilite containers. I screamed and screamed until I collapsed in tears.

Then my kitty came to check on me. She was scared. I pet her and consoled her. Then I got back up, returned to the containers, put my feet on the rims while I gently tugged. They easily came free.

I know I can do this. Really, I can. But damn, some days are so fucking hard. I’m engaged in this epic battle with myself to just keep moving forward, even an inch at a time. People keep saying they can’t believe how well I’m doing, how strong I am. But they don’t see these battles behind closed doors. It’s rough back here.