Loneliness has become my new best friend.
It’s probably a good thing, though, since I’ve pretty much lost all my other friends.
Maybe this is how my life has always been destined to be spent.
This morning, I counted the number of nights my husband has been gone in the past 3 months. That total was 30 nights. That’s equivalent to an entire month. He loves his job and he is good at it. I’ve tried to tell him he would be better off without me in his life.
I have two weeks left before my world falls apart.
My heart is already starting to shatter. A pebble when thrown from the tire of a passing car causes an innocent looking nick in a windshield, you know that nick is only going to start to spread until the windshield is worthless.
The nick has been getting bigger for a while, yet so many people think they have the right to tell me how to feel.
This morning, I contemplated returning to church. I couldn’t do it. I feel like I don’t belong there and am not welcome there anymore. I retreated to the safest place I have right now–my bed–where sleep provides the only escape from the constant pain and heartache. The two creatures who care the most for me right now, my cats, laid close by, content that I was sleeping away a beautiful fall day–a day that could have held memory making activities.
But when the glass is close to shattering, it’s best to not put any more strain on it than necessary.