So this weekend was hard. Really hard. The hardest I could have possibly imagined. I hope Sunday was my darkest hour as I don’t think I could handle it again.
I tried so hard to be happy and have a good weekend; I went out for dinner, drinks and a dance with some friends on Saturday night. This was followed up by a trip to the theatre with another friend Sunday afternoon. I was determined to at least try to enjoy myself – fake it til I make it. I cried both mornings within minutes of waking up and again throughout the mornings. But I did not want to spend the day or evenings crying.
Saturday evening went well; I had fun, even danced with a guy, but it didn’t feel right. I’d had my baby removed from me less than a week ago – how could I be out there drinking, dancing, laughing? At least I didn’t cry.
Sunday had other ideas in mind. I had to catch a tram into the city for the show, and my tram route goes past the Women’s hospital and the building where I’d had my scan. I knew they were coming up, so I focussed on the podcast I was listening to; I tried to focus on the sudoku on my phone; I put my sunglasses on; I closed my eyes. I tried it all, but as the tram approached, I couldn’t hold it in. My eyes welled up and I had to raise my head – I squeezed my thumbnails into my fingers – anything to not see those buildings and bring back the tragedy of the week before.
I did get through it and managed to only wipe my face once – no attention gained. But then it was time to get off the tram. As I walked along Southbank, the place was filled with young families – mums and dads with their kids, their babies, their gigantic prams. I pulled my sunglasses down and thanked myself for choosing to not wear make up. I got to the cafe where I was meeting Mel, and again, the emotions got to me. My eyes welled up and I had to keep my glasses on; had to keep staring up at the sky, digging my thumbnails in. Anything to shift focus from the happiness and families around me.
Mel arrived and I had to update her on the events of the last week; she has been super supportive, like my other friends and family. The support I should have been getting from my ‘fiancee’. I managed to get through the update and even almost finished my hot chocolate – I’m struggling to get anything down at the moment.
We made our way to the Arts Centre (catching Pokemon along the way; she’s gotta catch em all) and eventually the show started. I’ve not seen Funny Girl before and didn’t know the story line; I bought the tickets months ago based on the stars – Caroline O’Connor and David Hobson. They did not disappoint, they were amazing. But the story – what a terrible ending. I needed a happy ending and it didn’t happen. They broke up and then took their bows. WTF? This is a musical – we expect happy endings. I needed a happy ending. I needed to know that love will win and they can accept changes and move on in life together. I didn’t need them to give up on each other. I didn’t need her to accept his walking away and saying it was for the best. I’m sorry, but this rained all over my parade. How dare they?
Mel and I parted ways and I had to make my way back along the same happy family-filled walkway. And then past the area where my hand was asked for in marriage. It was all torture. I cried on the tram ride home and still on the walk home. I felt like it wouldn’t stop.
I did manage to stop for a bit but not long. I couldn’t stop the tears. I was on the couch filling tissue after tissue after tissue. My heart was racing and my stomach was aching. I felt like my chest was caving in on me. I started to cook some dinner but it was a painful process. I gave up half way through and collapsed on the floor in front of the couch. I didn’t know if I’d make it back up; I honestly didn’t feel like I had the energy and I certainly didn’t have the motivation.
Self-preservation finally kicked in and I realised I needed food or sugar or something to get me moving. I had some juice and continued on with dinner. I managed about 5 mouthfuls before breaking down again. I have never felt pain like this before. I have never felt so low, worthless or just down right sad. I felt like I was falling into an ever increasing darkness that didn’t have a light at the end of the tunnel.
I sent a text to Gary in the hopes that he might come around; I knew he was out having fun (the joys of torturing myself with Facebook) so I asked him to come round on Monday. He had plans Monday and Tuesday and left it at that. I didn’t know who else to call – I didn’t think I could gain comfort from anyone else. My sister is too far away and has her kids; my bestie was also too far and has kids. My other friends were working or again, just too far. And they weren’t Gary.
Gary asked me what was happening. I replied:
‘I’ve been crying on and off since I got home. I feel like my chest is closing in on me. I can barely eat and my head is pounding. I keep getting shivers and at times I feel like I’m struggling to breathe. My chest and stomach have a constant ache. I’m sinking into a deep depression that I can’t see a way out of and I’m supposed to start my new job tomorrow. I’ve never felt more alone.’
I received a reply 22.5 hours later: ‘U ok’.
I’m not sure how I got myself to bed last night but I did. I even managed to put the dishwasher on. I eventually got to sleep but kept waking up. The aches were getting stronger and I was just waiting for the tears to start. I was dreading waking up in the morning as I didn’t want to cry again. I was dreading having to start a new job and pretend everything was fine with a bunch of strangers. I was dreading having to move on with my life.
Last night was my darkest hour. I keep saying in my head ‘my darkest hour, yet‘. Yet is a powerful word. I can’t go back to that darkness but I’m scared I’ll end up back there. I want to say and know and truly believe that that was my darkest hour. But I keep hearing ‘yet’ on repeat.
Today was better. But it’s not over. Yet.