I can’t remember the last I wrote anything. Time is strange when you’re grieving. Life carries on but it’s moving while you’re standing still. What feels like a couple of weeks, turns into months, turns into seasons and before you know it, the weather is hot and the nights long. All the while, the ache of missing your loved one is still there. Like a gaping wound that can’t be healed. And you miss them when you expect it least.
Like times when you’re ill and all you want is to be comforted. Times when someone breaks your heart and all you want is a hug and you can’t because they’re gone. You’ll never feel the warmth of their embrace and the comfort of their arms around you, telling you everything will be ok.
I often wonder what my mum would make of the person I’m turning into, putting my needs before my morals. She didn’t know about the businessman who broke my heart and she didn’t know about the man who promised me, no matter what, he’d always want me. Even if hell froze over and I got married, he’d still want me. Going against his own vowels and mine. What a fucking joke. Grief makes your judgement cloudy at times, because you want to replace the pain with hope. My mum would probably say to me ‘never trust a man that has to make a promise to you, because he’ll never keep it’. Wise words. Wish I’d listened then and not now.
But karma. It comes around to bite you on the arse when you deserve it. And boy oh boy do I deserve it! I swore I’d never wade in someone’s water but when push comes to shove and needs must, then needs must indeed. And now, here I am, in my own self imposed shit hole, paying the price with a wounded heart. Again. Businessman didn’t want me, but didn’t have the heart to actually break my heart and now, lets call him ‘broken promise’, has shown me the painful way that you can’t have your sparsely iced cake and eat it.
So there we go. Grief. It’s a nasty piece of shit. It makes you do shitty things to other people, sends you to places your moral compass would never dream of following. Maybe it’s a combination of selfishness and grief. Who knows. All I know is I don’t like this path I’ve gone down. What would my mum say of me? She’d probably give me the look she always did when she didn’t approve of my actions: glasses pulled down to middle of her nose, her eyes looking over the top of the rims with an intent stare, eye to eye and then declare ‘Sharon! Look at me! Do you know what you’re doing?!’ She’d give me a glare of disapproval and she’d be right. I’d give anything for that stare right now. Funny the things you miss when you can’t have them anymore.
tetheredinthedeepend 