Eventually, if you’re going fast enough, you are going smack straight into the wall.
I’ve run, and run… and here I am. There’s no further to run, from this point.
There is nowhere else to go.
I’ve left my life behind, and I have to start again.
This is just too fucking difficult, right now.
I’m exhausted. The reality of what has happened, what is happening, right now…. it’s sinking in.
I’ve never felt so alone, so afraid of the future, in my whole life.
What the hell am I doing here? The surreal quality of being here, of living in HomeTown again… it just adds to the vertigo.
Free falling. Life, as I knew it.. it’s over.
And while the rush of the free fall is exhilarating… it’s lonely out here, in the stratosphere.
What the fuck? How did this happen? Is this really me, living this… surely it has to be a bad dream?
I miss Tony so much, right now.. but it’s different, easier here. Easier to grieve for him. Easier to remember that he loved me, without a thousand people thinking he didn’t.
I’m a broken woman. I think of an adjective to describe myself right now… and ‘broken’ is the only one that comes to mind.
The adrenalin, the strength, the bravery… all that, I feel like I left behind at the Purple House that isn’t purple anymore. The reality of living here, in this tiny Cottage…
It’s beautiful, and relaxed. It’s a lovely place to live. We have kangaroos on our front lawn, and a handful of beaches to choose from. The kids and the dog adore it, having a big yard, and so much space. We have family just a few doors down.
But then there’s so much to do. Phone calls to make, mail to be redirected. Unpacking to finish. The Internet connection is slower than dial up, the TV reception is non-existent, and I don’t have a freaking dishwasher. I’ve moved the contents of a three bedroom, two storey house into a four bedroom, one story house, but no matter how much stuff I get rid of, it still refuses to fit in the storage space I have.
I know, petty, useless concerns, especially compared with what I’ve already been through. But I am so tired, so overwhelmed, so shell shocked by what’s happened- take away my creature comforts and you’ll floor me. I’m sick of being brave, being strong. I’m sick of getting on with it. I’m sick of having to make all the decisions, do all this stuff, when it was not so long that I had my big, strong husband here to help me, to do the hard stuff for me, to allow me to feel weak and vulnerable and miserable if I needed to.
I don’t really have that option right now.
And that’s all I want to do.
Curl up in a ball, and sob, and sob, with someone’s strong arms around me.
And wait for the bone crushing thud at the end of the free fall.