I wish I could put into word how empty I feel after taking one or all of my boys home. You would think that after how long it has been since the end of my marriage, it would be east, but it’s not. For 5 days, sometimes more, I live in a dark, stale, lonely apartment and for 1 or 2 days it comes to life with my children. It happens so fast that I can’t grab it and hold it and once again I come home to nothing.
I see the life at what was once my home. I see the dreams I shared happening, but without me. Once again I am dragged back to not knowing why or what I did wrong. The boys are young and don’t understand that I need that one more hug, that few more seconds with them.
Then comes the “great silence” of the next several hours. No one calls, no one answers, but I need to talk, I need to feel not so alone, so worthless. I’ve told people this, close people, but still they just choose to not be burdened with me.
I understand it. It’s my problem, not theirs. They all chose from day 1 to not involve themselves in my hurts and pains, and they have clearly shown and told me this several times in the past 4 years, but I walk myself right back into the minefield.
I want to escape my head. I never like drinking and when I have, I always stopped when the “fuzziness” started. The “control freak” in me will not allow me to smoke Marijuana. I tried that too and if there was a high, I mentally ruined it.
Fuck, I’m a mess…