I am living in 10 minute increments. Some of those pass by smoothly. Some are eased by connection; a brief check in, a voice on the end of the helpline. But some of them are harrowing; dragging and scraping past me, leaving me abraded and raw.
just read a sylvia plath diary entry that said: if i get through this year, no matter how badly, it will be the biggest victory i've ever done. and i felt that in my bones.
on sunday i look at my grief & beg it to let me rest. today i do not want to think about loss. i want to try to eat, see the sun. i do not want to think about the empty space and the things i can no longer do. today i want to stop thinking about anything. today please let me go.
every time i think of giving up, i read my own note on the wall that says, "it will seem like you have gone as far as you can go, but that's an illusion. you can always go further" and then i think to myself "okay, let's have one more day."