Grief is a Strange Bedfellow

I’ve been spending all this time talking about freedom and being unencumbered, blah, blah, blah. But I think I finally realized that I’m grieving. I want to believe those things, I really do . . . but if I’m truly honest, being alone (even for an introvert) is hard. There’s no one to tell exciting news, there’s no one who will cook you dinner if you are too tired (so I end up eating cereal or nothing), there’s no one to have intellectual conversations with . . . no one just in the room next to you doing something else. No co-existing. That’s what I am grieving. Not him (my ex) per se. But rather, the comfort of having someone around. That comfort you have when there’s a noise in the house and you know you’re not alone.

Thank goodness for friends who try. And boy do they try. I guess in someways there are a few that I might be replacing my marriage with in some weird way. Because I trust them and they are comfortable. But my marriage was so void, so empty. How could I be replacing it with anything? No, it’s not replacement. It’s just hunger for human contact. Human relationships. Adult conversation. Sometimes I literally ache thinking I just need to touch someone with whom I have a connection.

If I am truly honest, what I am grieving is the fact I never really had a marriage. At least not a marriage I wanted. And at 43, acknowledging that I will likely never have it is well . . . fucking depressing. Trying to renegotiate what I want out of life is a difficult process. And I do not have the answers. This frustrates me b/c I always have the answers. I always know what to do. And I’m grieving that too. Everything feels beige — even my work which has for so long been the biggest part of my life (next to my children). Even yoga has started to feel beige. I love to read and I can’t even make it through the first chapter of a book. I’m distracted during movies. I can’t sit still. Beige. Restless.

When I am like this — beige and restless — I do dumb, sophomoric things. I let people into my head and my bed who quite honestly, shouldn’t be there. They are not my “equal” in any way, shape or form. Just a quick distraction from all the real issues at hand. I need to quit inviting people into my life and my bed who don’t really give a shit about anything other than a fuck. I need more than that anyway. But when you are grieving, non-attachment is “safe.” It means you don’t have to be authentic with anyone. It means you can be guarded and protect yourself. From what though? From being hurt again? From feeling? From life?

It’s worse when my girls aren’t home. Last week they were gone for an entire week. I felt off kilter, like I was walking sideways through the week. Drinking too much and making decisions that I knew were not healthy but they felt good at the time b/c they made me feel less alone and less vulnerable at the same time. Bottom line, I’m not sure I am programmed for one night stands or “fuck buddies.” But at the same time, I’m not ready for a committed relationship. Irony? Maybe.

There are only a few people right now (probably two if I’m honest) I feel completely safe with and that I can trust. I am able to be raw and vulnerable. And right now, that’s enough for me . . . or it should be. If I could just keep my libido in check and my mouth closed, I’d be moving in the right direction. But grief is a strange bedfellow and I know better than to make myself promises.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Parker Brookwood’s story.