It’s been a long time since I’ve had a moment to myself to write. Since I’ve had time to just sit and reflect on where I am, where I’ve been and where I might be going.
My life has gotten fairly reactionary in the past few years – most recently it’s gotten extremely reactionary.
Everything is exaggerated since he died. My fears. My loneliness. How much I miss him.
It all seems BIGGER somehow.
I hate waking up alone. I hate going to sleep alone. So much that it has caused a problem with my current relationship. The waking up alone without him there… so reminiscent of waking up alone after Mark went into the hospital.
I want, more than anything, to be ok in my own skin. To be able to be alone and at peace. To enjoy quiet moments without overthinking this or that problem. To just *be* and enjoy it.
I sit here, as I write this, and my chest is pounding. I have the familiar feeling of anxiety, of stress, of fight or flight. I sit here, wondering how I’m going to make it through the night and how I’m going to sleep. Am I going to have to chemically induce sleep? Or have a drink? Or…?
I’m scared of going to bed alone, and waking up and he’s never coming back. That’s what happened. He got sick. He was taken to the hospital. I went to bed… and he never came home.
Totally irrational fear.
But it’s there.
And because of the nature of my man’s work – I get to experience this anxiety and stress 4 days out of ever 16. IF he doesn’t do nighttime overtime. If he does – then it’s worse.
I don’t do well those weeks.
One has nothing to do with another. Mark didn’t die because I went to bed alone. I get that. And Mike will not die while away from me at night either.
And yet I sit here… wondering what method I’ll use to get myself to fall asleep, stay asleep and enjoy my sleep.
Even though I’m going to wake up alone.