I dreamt last night of how old I looked. I’m not 26, not really by any means. Not that I have ever looked my age, as I was once thought to be 16, when I was 13, but dang, grief has aged me.
I’m tired. My eyes feel scratchy. I have a cold and just feel miserable. I stress myself out to the point where even my regular womanly functions don’t know what the heck they’re doing. I’ve lost weight when I was feeling good, and gained 1/3 of it back over the summer. I have very little energy, I’m moody, I’m so many things I never used to be.
I really hate what grief has done to me. I hate how it’s taken more than just my husband. I just can’t believe how my physical self is reacting to all this stress, and I cannot seem to find any good ways to relieve it. There’s no quick fix, no diet solution, no magic pill to make me feel better. More sleep just doesn’t cut it. Vitamins don’t keep me healthy. I’ll eat well for a few days, and then give into the chocolate because it makes me feel a bit of joy. Exercise is work, and when I do it, I feel good, but most times I am just so tired that the thought of exercising exhausts me.
I’m just disgusted with how my body and brain are not working together. I hate that I’m not happy-that I’m fighting for every piece of joy I want to feel but can’t seem to fully enjoy. Everything feels like it comes with a cost. Does it?
Ugh, F U grief.