I wake up and take a deep breath but most days it barely helps to ease the sharp stabbing pain in my heart.
I get up and stumble to the bathroom where I’ve written “Cheer up, Charlie” on the mirror to remind myself that all is not lost.
But when I get there, my head is hung too low to see the mirror and the words that are meant to support and encourage.
I get dressed slowly but not because I care about what I’m putting on.
Most days I grab something from the hamper and make sure it’s not too smelly.
By then my morning ritual is almost done.
I’m just missing one last piece.
I look up at the clock and take another deep breath.
Here goes nothing to start and get through another day.
With that breath, I slide the mask into place and walk out the door to go to work where no one will notice the pain, the sorrow, the brokenness.
The mask is my savior, my hiding place, my peace from all the chaos, for even though I know what it hides, I choose to be disillusioned by it.
I choose to see myself as whole, as untouched by you, as loved, as happy, as friendly, as…as me.
And for twelve carefree hours in my day, I can believe the lies I’m telling to the world:
That I’m ok even though you’re gone.
That I’m just fine even though the person who said they’d never go abandoned me too.
That I’m fit as a fiddle even though this ulcer is eating me from the inside out and I just don’t care because you don’t either.
That I’m happy living on my own even though I confessed to you all my fears of living alone, but that didn’t stop you from up and leaving.
That I’m strong enough to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and somehow put them back together even though I don’t even know where all the pieces are.
But then the end of the day comes and I find myself standing in the middle of my bedroom again.
I begin the evening ritual with dread filling every pore of my being.
I change into my pajamas, I brush my hair, I wash my face.
And then I take off my mask.
That last piece.
I fall on my bed exhausted from the pretense of the day.
I fall on my bed exhausted from holding back the tears all day.
I fall on my bed exhausted from missing you.
I fall on my bed exhausted from still loving you.
And then I cry.
I cry for the girl who never knew the life she dreamed for could be this painful.
I cry for the girl who thought she had finally found someone she could rely on only to find her judge of character was grossly wrong.
I cry for the girl who wanted many things from life but now would give all that up just to have you back.
I cry for me.
I cry for you.
I cry for us.
And then in the midst of my crying, I sleep.
I sleep with dreams of you and me.
I sleep with nothingness.
I sleep only for a short while as has become my habit.
And then I wake up and take a deep breath.
A deep breath and it begins again.
Did you know?
No?
Well…now you do.
