837 days and counting

I figured it out.  I have cried, nearly every day, for 837 days.

On many of the days that I have cried, there have been more, far more than enough tears to make up for the days I didn’t.

My face looks so much different than it did 837 days ago.  My skin; the lines in my forehead, around my eyes, at my mouth; the way my mouth sits at rest, now with a downturn at the edges.  The sadness has etched itself into topical relief that will never leave me at this age.  I look in the mirror and am, metaphorically at least, unrecognizable.  But maybe it isn’t metaphor because I still can’t find myself under all those tears.

And yet, even carrying all that sorrow, I am surprised, even stunned when I can still be hurt.  And hurt.  And hurt some more.  Because 837 days ago, I thought I finally would stop being hurt for all the same reasons, but I was wrong.  In fact, it hurts so much more because it simply brings into very sharp focus all that never really was and was never given a chance to be and how much of my life and my self that I gave to wishing it could and trying to believe it would.

I don’t write this message in search of sympathy or hugs or “it’ll get better.”  I write it for me, because I have to have a place to put it, a place to let it go of it, a place to hope for the next 837 days.  And I do.  I hope.  Because it’s still all I have.

 

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This entry was posted in Damn It, Divorce, Marriage, The Ugly Truth and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to 837 days and counting

  1. cherylz1961 says:

    There was a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief. He collects your tears and records them on a scroll. This is not sympathy or hugs. This is truth. He cares for you.

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