I haven’t been blogging much lately.
The truth is, I haven’t been doing much of anything lately. I get up, I put on my cookie pants, and I flop down in front of the television. I don’t so much as glimpse at my computer–in fact, I go to lengths to avoid it, because sitting down at my desk, even to answer emails, makes me feel guilty that I’m not blogging or writing or sending out query letters.
My Creativity has packed her bags and left. She didn’t even leave a Dear John letter. That bitch.
It’s not just my writing that I’m avoiding. I spend my days coming up with excuses to cancel engagements with my friends and family. It’s not that I don’t want to see them, it’s that I don’t want them to see me. Because I know that those people who love me will see only one thing, despite my fake smile and fancy hair and copious amounts of concealer I use to cover up the dark circles under my eyes.
They’ll see the truth.
You’re thinking, “But you’ve had so much AWESOME this summer! How can you be sad?”
It’s easy to toss off the reality cloak when you’re on vacation or going to concerts, but those are the spaces between the pain that glow like stolen embers. I wrap my fingers around them and hold on tight. I close my eyes and recall those fleeting seconds of happiness, letting them warm me through, if only for awhile.
Because it’s been a tough year for me, for my family, for my husband.
While these awful things keep happening to people I love, I can’t help but sink back into my own cocoon. I wrap an afghan over my head and peer at the sunshine through the dappled yarn. I feel like it takes every bit of my strength to smile. Tears hover, unshed, just beneath the surface. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that there is potential for tomorrow to be better.
This is what it feels like to mourn.
It is a journey I have to take. And while I’m not the only one on this journey, there are parts of the path I have to navigate alone. Some days, as I turn the corner, I can see patches of funny and happy in the distance. Some days I find myself in a mire so thick and viscous that I don’t think I’ll ever fight my way out.
I’m staring at the blue Publish button and wondering to myself if I should just save this one for the archives. It is my truth, but is it too….truthy? I don’t want my mom to worry about me, or my friends to start arriving en masse with casseroles. It’s not as dire as all that. The button beckons me, and I know I’ll click on it, if only to explain my absence from this place that comforts me and offers me shelter. I want to find my way back to the silly that propels this place forward. And I will. I just haven’t reached that part of the journey yet.