Note to self: you are no longer allowed to give into the temptation of feeling guilty for having a good (or even a not bad or neuteral) hour, day or week.
These last few days have been hell on earth. Nothing in particular seems to be different from last week, except that my heart feels crushed and I can’t stop crying. The weather is beautiful, its the weekend and I know damn well what it would have been like if Mike hadn’t checked out.
We’d be hanging out in the yard, working on the garden, sipping wine, listening to/playing/singing music, hanging laundry on the line, taking turns with the kids, feeling lucky to be alive and together.
Instead, I am lonely, burned out on 100% responsibility for kids, widowed and don’t see how life is ever going to be much better than surviving. Certainly haven’t felt anything resembling joy in a long ass time. What’s the point of anything? I’m not too sure any more.
I can’t stop thinking about Mike and am missing him and what used to be a family life very acutely. I also hate him for ruining my life. And my kids’ lives.
Other than that, things are great.