This past week was my birthday. I turned 34. It might be the first time in my life I don’t really seem to have any particular feeling about turning an age. Usually I have a feeling of either excitement or resentment towards a new age. When I hit 30, I was so gloriously ready to leave my 20’s behind because they were, with the exception of meeting Drew, quite hard years. I had an abusive boyfriend, two jobs, and too many classes to count in my early twenties. I had a fear of relationships and complete breakdown and entered therapy in my mid twenties. Not to mention an alcoholic dad creating occasional chaos throughout all of that. I spent the better half of that decade fighting so hard to survive… with the odds of a dysfunctional childhood rearing at every turn. My twenties were filled with many adventures, but also much pain. Particularly when Drew died, just 3 months shy of my 30th birthday.
The best years, were from 26 to 29. My years with Drew. They were the first carefree years of my life. The first years where I finally understood what it felt like to exhale fully. Those were the birthdays I didn’t want to end. The celebrations that would span a whole week, just because this one person enjoyed celebrating me that much. Both of my parents were dead already, but his overflowing love combined with that of our amazing friends made it much harder to feel the pain. I remember in fact just enjoying my birthdays, fully, without the bittersweet feelings. Instead with only a passing thought to my parents.
Since he died, birthdays have yet again returned to that sort of “hurry up and get it over with” feeling. And I hate it. I hate that I fought so hard for so long in my twenties to finally have peaceful, joyful birthdays only to have them stolen away again. And it isn’t like I don’t try. It certainly isn’t like Mike doesn’t try. Having someone new in your life doesn’t take away the pain or the longing for your other person though. And I’ve learned over time that some years are just harder than others.
This is my life now, living with grief is a daily battle. It never ends, we just try to adapt to life with grief. Last week I was filled with a new found strength. I used this strength to put more effort into my job and was proud that I felt as though I was finally escaping the fog. That was until I was pulled into a meeting at the end of what I thought had been a productive week for me. And the words from my employer’s mouth were basically that they can see I am only functioning at about 30% and I need to give them more.
I knew this already, I feel bad about my performance at work and I am the first to admit I’m not all there. Will I ever be again?
Today is one of those weird days where I don't have much to say. I love writing for this blog, and 9 times out of 10, even when I sit down to start typing and have no clue what Im going to write about, I end up coming up with something after all. But every now and then, you just have one of those weeks where there's not much going on or not much to report in the way of emotions. And when you have a scheduled writing assignment of "every Friday", there are going to be times where you are scrambling around in your own mind to try and find something deep and meaningful to report. But there is nothing.
Sometimes, there is nothing. Just life.
And that is neither a good or bad thing. In fact, most things are neither good or bad things. They are just things. At least, that is how I see it. Sometimes, there are a lot of words, and other times, there aren't. Sometimes there are things going on in your world that you can't necessarily talk about in a public forum, because other people's emotions and privacy are involved, so you are limited with what you can say. Or sometimes, your life is in a holding pattern, and you are smack in the middle of a lot of transitions - but those transitions haven't actually happened yet, so there's not much to report about them.
Sometimes, there are no profound words for a thing.
Sometimes, there is Just Life.