I haven't known what to write about lately. The blahs of summer heat have usurped all creativity, dried up all motivation. But I am feeling more like myself these days, compared to how things were last summer. I feel like I know myself again and that is ok to be how she is; how I am.
Yesterday marked two years since Ex's hospital admission to the psych ER at St. Joseph's. This day haunts me, which may explain the nausea I experienced last night, the uneasiness of the last few days, knowing the inevitable anniversary was approaching.
Why is it that this happens? Why do we "celebrate" the painful anniversaries as well as the joyous ones? Haven't I have healed?
I remember....hours of waiting, dozens of doctors, Ex's incoherence exacerbated by not knowing where he was or what was happening to him...the painful shot of Haldol he would only take in the bicep, rather than the traditional rear-end shot, and his clouded words as he drifted out of consciousness: "Don't leave me."
Which I, of course, did.