Fighting Inertia



Today, I struggle.  It’s 9:30 am on a Tuesday, most of the world is busy going to work, sleeping, eating…just living or being productive.  Instead, I sit on my bed, wearing my late husband’s pajama bottoms, t-shirt and sweater, frozen, silently weeping off and on.  I continue to find it strange that life continues to revolve around me as nothing has changed, when my world is so completely different.

I look at my husband’s urn that sits on my dresser.  I despise that his body is in there, where I can’t smell his skin or touch his face or hug his body. Knowing that he is burnt to ash and can never be alive again kills me.  I scream at the urn, I HATE that you left me, how DARE you…I miss you….

I look outside my bedroom window; the sun is out, but the warmth emanating is weak, as the temperature is just above freezing.  The beauty of the clear blue sky is small consolation for my sadness.

Recently, I discovered Abraham Hicks, the motivational speaker, and have been playing her U-tube speeches like a manic mad woman. 

When I start to feel sorry for myself, I crank the volume higher on the TV, hoping that some of her positive messages sink into my skull and get absorbed by my brain.  She talks so quickly, but makes sense with every message she delivers. 

“You are a physical extension of that which is non-physical.” Abraham Hicks says.  “You create your own reality with every thought.  The purpose of your life is joy.”  I hear it.  I feel it.  I understand it.  I just can’t seem to apply it. I want to be in the VORTEX.

What am I doing wrong? 

I cannot express how frustrated I am at my own inertia.  I want to get off my ass and be happy.  I want to find excitement and joy in every day living.  I want to figure out what my ultimate purpose is.
 I want…I want...I want my husband back…I want my daughter back.  I want my old life, not the new one stretching out before me that seems so hard.  My emotions fight a constant internal battle.  Anger wars with depression which fights joy which turns to pain.

I tell myself to be grateful that I am not homeless, broke or unhealthy.  It could be so much worse than being frozen, midday in bed, from a broken heart.

But telling my emotions to feel what I want them to feel is a talent I don’t have.  I am reminded that there is no cure for grief.  And pain continues to wash over me like waves in an ocean.  Tomorrow I will try again.

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