Tag Archives: grief

Just me

Heavy Lifting…

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I’m going to start this by saying I am in no way suicidal and I am in the care of a very good therapist.

Okay, now that’s out of the way; I’m really fucking tired.

Do you have any idea how heavy a lift it is to get up every single morning of your life feeling like you fell down the stairs and still just get on with living?

I never wake up rested and spry, I never open my eyes and feel good, I never greet the day with fresh excitement.

Every single day is a struggle to overcome the very real, very intense physical weight of the pain my body has decided is my constant companion.

I’m really tired of it.

I’m tired of opening my eyes and feeling the pain flood in.

I’m tired of becoming aware of the pain in my head, neck, fingers, toes, back, hips, legs, arms, etc.

I’m tired of getting up anyway.

It’s such a heavy lift, this pain of mine. Finding joy, cheer, motivation when it’s pressing down on me all the time is a full time constant choice. Not despairing when I am never allowed a moment’s respite is hard fucking work.

I don’t want to give up on life but goddamn some times I want to give in. Fall apart, crumble, collapse, stay in bed for weeks, months, years. Not get dressed, not eat, not shower or plunge or write or paint or walk the dog. Because making the choice to do all those things with the pain along for the ride is really, really hard.

I’ve been doing it for so long and I’m only 50.

I have so much farther to go.

Thank you for listening. I’m really feeling it tonight.

Chronic pain

Folding in on myself…

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I feel as though I am folding in on myself, choosing myself for company and comfort more and more.

I do have my family and spouse and ever since my friend moved in with us I have felt little to no need to leave the house for companionship.

She, like me, lives in a body with designs on a difficult existence and I find the comfort of sharing life with someone who really gets it so fulfilling I fear my inner goblin has begun to take me over.

It’s just hard, you see.

Hard to live each day in a body that simply never lets you forget that you are supremely fucked.

I never feel good. I haven’t felt good in over 13 years.

I feel less bad sometimes.

I have amazing experiences that push the less bad into the background sometimes.

I’m really good at giving the appearance of doing pretty damn ok.

But I hurt. Somewhere. A lot. All the time.

I’m even improving and getting off medications and having wins and I’m still hurting all the time. Just, less.

SO yeah. It’s really hard to carry all that around all the time and then go somewhere with people who love you and NOT just dump it on them every single time you see them.

So I don’t. I talk about ANYTHING else.

Then I feel like I am not talking about the thing that most impacts my life and that nobody really knows me anymore.

Then I feel like who could really want to know me when what I have to talk about is just hurting all the time?

So I fold in on myself. I choose my own company.

I choose my own comfort.

grief, loss, Love

Missing Something

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I pat my pockets absently for the item I’ve forgotten, rummaging through the detritus on the desk, the overflowing “in case of” items in my bag.

I’m missing something.

I go back upstairs to see if I left it there but nothing catches the faint haunting thought in my brain. Wallet yes, keys yes, gloves yes.

What is it?

I check the bathroom as I often leave things sitting on the windowsill or sink, set aside during teeth brushing or other ablutions.

Nope.

I’m out of time. Whatever it is, I hope I really don’t need it because I’m going to have to leave without it. I open the door, step out onto the porch and freeze.

It’s you.

I’m missing you.

Your absence in my life is still enough of a novelty to send me off in a flurry of activity searching for whatever it is that will make me whole, because I simply never am.

A tear escapes my eye, chased down my cheek by an eager sibling.

Deep breaths.

I don’t have time for grief today.

———— SavvySpoonie 2026