I hate my anxiety.
I hate that my husband died,
while I was asleep,
at home,
and he had just left for work.
I hate that a ringing phone,
in the early morning hours,
will forever make me panicky,
and give me that feeling,
of knives sitting in my throat.
I hate that he just disappeared,
from my life.
He wasn’t sick.
He wasn’t ever sick.
And then,
suddenly,
just like that,
he was gone.
I hate that I was sleeping,
while my husband was collapsing,
on a floor,
inside a store,
Alone.
Totally alone.
I have gone through the necessary therapy,
processing through these emotions,
feeling them,
letting them shift to somewhere different,
and it has helped,
tremendously.
But,
I will always, always
feel a sense of helplessness,
and panic,
and unbelievable terror,
when its morning-time,
and I haven’t heard from my love.
I hate ……
being this way.
I hate……
what goes on inside my mind,
that loop of doom that I try like hell
to stop.
But I cant.
I just cant.
And I hate it.
He didn’t text me this morning.
He always texts me first thing in the morning.
And he didn’t.
Normal people,
people whose husband’s didn’t disappear forever,
or die,
while they were asleep,
would just assume that he must be sleeping still.
Not me.
No.
My mind turns evil.
It goes to places that are frightening.
He doesn’t call.
Or text.
It is 6:30am.
And then 7:30.
Then 8am.
I text him.
I say good morning, my love.
I try not to sound panicky.
There is no reply.
It is almost 9am.
Still nothing.
He rarely sleeps in. He is an early riser.
I stare at my phone,
hoping it will somehow make the words appear:
“Good Morning, Beautiful.”
My mind does it’s crazy dance. He never sleeps in. Rarely. Im headed into the office soon, to write my book about my dead husband, who left for work and never came home. He is supposed to pick me up later at the office. If he’s dead, he can’t pick me up, and then I’ll have to call my dad to pick me up, and Ill have to tell my dad that it happened again. That the person I love, is just gone. But this time, we only got 9 months together, instead of 4 years and 9 months. This time, we aren’t married yet, so some people will judge me and say Im not REALLY a widow. This time, it will hurt and stab even worse, because I cannot go through this shit again. I just cant. I start preparing my mind for the inevitable. How can I finish my book about my dead husband, if my boyfriend is now dead too? What do I do next? How do I learn to breathe again? To live again? AGAIN??? What kind of services does he want? We haven’t talked about any of that, just like last time. Just like with Don. Please don’t let this shit happen again. Please don’t let my love be…
8:47am.
He texts me.
“I was snoozing. I am fine. I love you.”
And the carousel begins again ……
