Grief

The weight of grief that I carry with me is daunting. Sometimes it's so heavy I can't lift it all and have to sit back down before I fall. Other times I don't know where it is and it sneaks up on me in the middle of the night like it did tonight.

I didn't get hurt. Thankfully, but the home invasion troupe was in full force, so that kinda blew. I ended up walking out of my own home, leaving them there, before even the police showed up. I went to the store to get cigarettes, because I started smoking again sporadically after my daughter moved out, even though I'd been quit of ‘em for years before that.

Then I walked up to the park, and sat in the puddle of light the street lights threw on the bench, and drew my grief on my tablet. I miss my daughter, I miss my friends, I miss the lovers that have gone to the other side. And it caught up with me. By the time I got home, I was hitching and sobbing, and broke into full fledged tears as soon as I walked in the door.

It's been over a year since she left, and it's still not gotten any better here. She can't live here, there are too many pedophiles running free and attacking me too often for her to be safe here. So she lives where she's safe and happy, and I get to drown in a new layer of grief every other week or so, when I have enough down time for my limbic system to relax, and let the pain flow outward instead of repressing it in the fight or flight mode I seem to constantly be in these days.