Moving on. I thought it would get easier. It didn’t. I slipped. I skidded. I stopped. I shut down. And I just couldn’t write anymore.Thoughts would spin inside my head, but they wouldn’t reach my fingertips. They stopped. Somewhere. Jumbled. I was too empty. Too lonely. Too alone. Stress was pulling me down. And I had nowhere to go. I kept reaching for Gregger. But he wasn’t there. And I realized he never would be. Ever again. The finality of it all. Scary. Sad. Detached. Should I share that raw emotion? People saw me as strong. Brave. Overcoming the worst of the worst. How could I go backwards? So I shut down. I buried myself inside my head.
I found solace in the space of my car. Music. Special songs. And I remembered. Tears would roll down my cheeks. Sometimes I’d sob uncontrollably. But it was my safe haven. Every morning. And then I’d walk into one of my “happy places” to work out. The tears were replaced by a smile. Fake? Maybe. I put on my “happy face.” No one knew. No one knew what was brewing inside. The turmoil. The heartache. The pain. I learned I could turn it on. And turn it off. I could allow myself to be sad. And then give myself space to be happy. It worked. I wasn’t burying emotions. I wasn’t hiding from them. I wasn’t burdening anyone. I was carrying the weight. But then I was letting it go. It wasn’t always easy, but, for the time being, it worked. And I hung on. 
I just felt so stuck. I moved through the motions. I woke up. Got ready. Took care of puppy, Angel. Worked out. Incessantly. Ran errands. Came home. Watched TV. Stupid shows. Went to bed. Woke up. Repeated. Over and over. Again and again. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t do anything that required brain function. Concentration. Didn’t work. I was stuck. So I shut down. This was where I stayed for quite a while, until…
to be continued…
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