The polar vortex is descending on NYC right now and the wind is deafening. High pitched whistles are endlessly swirling outside my window as I write this.
My 3 week hiatus of being away from the apartment has come to an end. I returned to work today and I proudly can say I kept my door open for the majority of the time I was in the office. There was only one point where my grief crept in and I couldn’t swallow it any longer. My dog knew I was sad, and he pawed his way to my lap and we just sat there for a half hour or so keeping each other company. He’s a sweet dog and a great companion for me. Usually he just wants to run around and say hi to the other coaches in the office.
When I came home to the apartment, I felt incredibly empty inside. I began reading the posts on YWBB.org to see if anyone else had experienced this overwhelming emptiness and I became distracted after a message I received from a friend about how they were thinking of me and hoping everything was okay. The mental state I was in at this point has been classified by the DSM V as “losing your shit.” I unwound quickly. The more I tried to keep it together, the quicker I unravelled. To be more productive than sitting on the couch sniffling, I started peeling potatoes and I sliced my finger pretty good. While tending to the wound, I started thinking about moving forward. Living life without George. And I quickly questioned, how is someone supposed to live when they feel dead inside? My heart is more than broken at this point. My heart has turned to rocks; Cold, hard, and inanimate. And the wooing gusts outside are mocking me. Joyfully rushing between buildings, stirring up a harmony of howls. I really wish I weren’t alone tonight.