I’m sitting here, ever so desperately wanting, needing to cry. To feel streams of salty, wet tears fall down my face, along my cheeks, across my jawbone and drop onto my chest.
I’m sitting here, ever so desperately wanting, needing to not cry. I am so sick of feeling down, of feeling the salty wet tears stream down my face, my nose start to tremble and my body start to shake.
I’m sitting here, ever so desperately wanting, needing to feel like a happy person again; someone who is happy within and without and not on the verge of breaking down.
I want to be in love, I want to be in love with myself again. I want to truly believe that there is good and happiness out there for me, that I’ll find happiness and contentment. But I hear a song on the radio, see a TV commercial, look at a photo, see a Facebook post or a baby in the street and it all comes rushing back in: the sadness, the negativity, the hopelessness.
I’ve had my heart broken before and I got over it. That relationship length was similar to this one, though not as serious and certainly not as passionate. But that relationship didn’t have a baby. That relationship didn’t see me get betrayed by my body, my workplace and my lover.
I’m a 33-year-old woman who used to pride herself on her independence, her ability to be happy on her own and pull her life together. That woman used to make plans for holidays, for special events for the future. She used to laugh, joke and smile and truly mean it. She got up early on the weekends, especially on sunny days so as not to waste the day. She used to visit her sister and niece and nephews on a regular basis. She used to enjoy cooking for herself and others. She used to enjoy eating and spoiling herself (slightly more than she should have). She used to enjoy being physically active and doing things on her own. She enjoyed seeing people happy and sharing in their good news, celebrating their weddings, new babies and family news.
This woman now doesn’t like her independence, can’t be happy on her own and feels her life is falling apart. She doesn’t make plans and is dreading approaching special events. She forces out laughter, jokes and smiles. She stays in bed for as long as she can on sunny weekends, not caring about the time wasted. She doesn’t make plans to see her sister and niece and nephews – and in fact feels immense pain when she does see them. She despises cooking and simply eats to survive, mainly on frozen meals. She doesn’t give herself treats – she simply doesn’t want any. She has no desire to be physically active and hates doing things on her own. Seeing news of others’ happiness, weddings and babies make her desperately sad and she doesn’t want a part of it.
It doesn’t help that in the back of my mind I tell myself this is ridiculous. Everyone goes through heartbreak, many lose their relationships and are able to pick up the pieces and move on. So many people suffer a miscarriage and seemingly move on. While I’m not usually one to feel sorry for myself – I used to believe that anything that was bothering me was insignificant compared to what others were going through – but now, I feel nothing but sorry for myself. I feel like I should be given a diagnosis, told that there is something wrong with me. Give me a ‘real’ reason for feeling how I feel. I don’t actually want an illness, or to have depression, but I can’t help but think that would help me feel okay with not feeling okay.
I so desperately want and need to cry. I so desperately want and need to not cry. I so desperately want and need to feel love. I so desperately want and need to fall in love with myself again.