Struggle

"It's not the end of the world. It's not the end of the world. It's not the end of the world. YOU will be okay. A little bit broken, but okay. Things will get better. The pain will fade. You will be okay. It's not the end of the world."

Every day is a struggle. A struggle to get up, a struggle to get dressed, and a struggle to want to do anything besides hide underneath the covers. I wake up, and for a moment I think that everything is a bad dream. Then I look around and realize I'm not at our house. Our clothes are still stacked in baskets next to the bed, and Emery is sleeping next to me, with no one else on my other side. And then, I move. I sit up. I let the reality hit me again. And everything starts to hurt. I move. Because there isn't much else I can do. The world doesn't stop turning just because my husband no longer loves me. Life doesn't hit the pause button so I can grieve.

It's been hard for me to adjust to not being with him anymore. Monday, after I got out of school I found myself selecting his number, and right before I dialed it I almost dropped the phone in shock. I was about to call him to see if he wanted me to pick up some food from town, which was what I always did after class. And earlier that day I had been pulled into a meeting at work, questioned about my attitude/emotions in regards to recent events, and the first thought that came to mind was "I need to talk to Beau when I get home." They're reactions. Motions I automatically did every day. Like when I roll over in bed and feel for him, but he's not there. And all of these things hurt so bad. What makes it even more painful is that he's not even phased by this. He's living it up, talking to other women, and partying. I'm here broken into pieces and it feels like I'm never going to fit back together quite like I used to.

But I have my daughter to think about. I have to keep moving. I have to keep going forward. One foot after the other. Slide on the jeans, pull the shirt over. Walk. Find my shoes. Brush my teeth. Move. Take care of little. Fix her lunch. Tie her shoes. Pack her bag. Go. Life has to keep going. My daughter can't put her life on pause just because her daddy no longer loves her mommy. She's five. Right now it's all about her friends, and sight words. It's about playing at the park, practicing her cart wheels, and "Friday Funday's". Though she knows things are different, and that we're apart she's too young to realize the extent of everything. When she catches me crying I get her sympathy in the form of hugs and words: "Mommy, don't be sad. It'll be okay." or "Mommy, I LOVE YOU. Okay? Okay. Don't cry." And so I dry my tears, and I move. I can't just stop living. The world won't let me. Life won't let me. So all I can do is keep my head down. Take one step after another. Breathe. And keep going.

"It's not the end of the world. It's not the end of the world. You will be okay, A little bit broken, but okay. The pain will fade. And you will be okay."

This post was written on November 2 & 3, 2015.