Sunday, March 15, 2015


I'm tired.
Of this.
Of that.
Of all of it.

I'm tired of putting
the butter back in
the fridge. The cap
back on the toothpaste.

I'm tired of putting
on socks when my
feet are cold. I'm
tired of plugging
my phone in when
the battery weakens.

And, no. That wasn't
a metaphor. I'm tired
of the metaphors.

The mind does
funny things when
we feel trapped in
discomfort. Tonight,
I viewed images of
meteorites which had
fallen to the earth.

I've been hoping
a meteorite may
land on me. You
don't need to tell me
how ridiculous this
is. I already know.

It just seems like
if they have to land know.

I'm tired.

I don't pray for
blood clots or
aneurysms like
I did in the beginning.
I've moved on.
To meteorites.

The mind. My mind.
It's trying to help
me out. Give me some
relief. It still pictures
jumping from high
places when I'm out
walking my dog.
The overpass. That
apartment over there.
That one. Or that one.

Maybe that disturbs
you. Maybe that causes
you to worry about my
well-being. I'm used to
it by now. Rest assured,
I am not suicidal.

I am simply tired.
And I feel trapped.

I've traded those
early days of grief
for something different.
And this new face of
is ugly. Bursts of energy
and lightness,
reassurances to everyone
(including myself) that
things are "getting better."

And then they're not.
They are.
And then they're not.
I can.
And then I can't.

And if I really tell you
of how hard it is, if
I really explain how
sometimes I'm stuck
in bed for hours at a time-
under the weight of
sadness- isn't there
just this little part of
you- this really little part
(and let's be honest) that
thinks perhaps I'm just not
"moving on"? Isn't there
a little voice in your head
that questions how I could
still be this sad? Still?

There must be.
Because I can hear it, too.

I'm tired of it.
Of this.
Of this grief.

I'm exhausted from
the longing.
From the missing.
From the self-
My ears are sore
from the sheer volume
of it all. My hands are
calloused from grabbing
at any and everything
on the way down.

I'm tired of writing
about this.

I'm tired.

1 comment:

  1. I just saw this. I'm tired, too, and can't even from relief from those escapist thoughts, if things get bad enough, I can.... knowing that I won't. It would devastate survivors. I'm tired of not feeling relief. I'm trying not to feel deserted by other family members and friends who have "moved on"--knowing that's to be expected, they will move on and won't "get" why I'm still grieving.