Day 130: Ball of Sadness

I am one big ball of sadness today. I started the day off heaving and screaming for, well, I’m not sure how long… it feels endless when it occurs.

Unsure how, I managed to make it in to work. Irony was in full force…
“You look really good today!” seemed to be on repeat …wow… apparently dressing nicely and putting on extra makeup in an attempt to hide my bagged eyes and blotchy face makes me look like a normal person. Certainly they couldn’t be looking me in the eye, as I’m sure the constant sadness can be seen at any hour. “If only I felt that way on the inside” is what I wanted to reply to each and every one of them, rather than the polite thank you I gave. (…and by the way thank you for pointing out that I look like complete shit on days I thought I looked half-decent!)
Power outages caused the cancellation of meetings, leaving me with four hours of general office work which, had I known earlier while dreading getting ready for the day, could have been spent resting at home.

(…Hmm… okay on second thought maybe it would have just been a continuation of bucket-heaving of the non-food I’d eaten.)

The time comes to go home and I just sit in the parking lot. No one is waiting for me. Not one. Not anywhere.

I step into the house and sadly mumble, “I’m home sweetie” with my head hung low. 23 seconds in the door and I’m already in tears and cries once again.

130 days and I still can’t believe it. How can that be it. How can he simply be gone. This is no life now. What am I supposed to do now? …WHAT…THE…FUCK…
To those who think we can just pick up and move on, fuck you. We didn’t lose a fingernail, we didn’t lose a dog, we lost the single most important part of our lives, of ourselves, our joy, our heart, our dreams, our future, … We have lost all that meant everything to us.

And here I remain, one big ball of sadness…


3 thoughts on “Day 130: Ball of Sadness

  1. Liking your post doesn’t feel quite right so instead I’ll simply say you are not alone in how you feel. All of us will make it through this somehow. We’ve just got a lot of screaming and crying to do in order to make it to the other side.


      • I know it is. And I hate even considering that this is the reality of my life for the rest of my life. Reality sucks and I’d frankly like to opt out of it, erase every second since this nightmare began, and find some way to change things. My counselor said grief is a dark tunnel. There is no light in the tunnel but you are forced to keep moving. Eventually, there is a slight feeling of there maybe being light, then the light comes. I can only relate to the darkness, but I hope that light is there even if I don’t really believe in it.


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