This Particular and Peculiar Sense of Non-being~

There is a particular and peculiar loneliness of the sort that cannot be imagined for its’ overwhelming and enveloping totality, that strikes me when I am in a crowded room with those who are familiar to me, or not.  It’s a loneliness whose depth is equal to the surge of desire I would feel as I rose on my tiptoes to meet Chuck’s lips in a kiss.  It is a loneliness that hits like a lightning bolt out of the stormy sky, with thunder rolling in dark tones onwards and onwards and onwards again until I finally have no sense of self or place as it consumes me into it.

This particular and peculiar loneliness does not confine itself or define itself by my circumstances of living on the road, though I can and will admit that I am so much out of my element in the outdoors that I find myself ruminating on the sheer oddity of sitting in my trailer each night, or walking about in the darkness of yet another anonymous campground, contemplating what the royal fuck happened to my life.  It is as if I am newly arrived from outer space and all that was familiar to me is gone, and nothing familiar is to be found:  my environs, language, people, my own identity…I gaze upon it all with a wrinkled brow, attempting to understand what cannot be understood because there is no way to translate any of it.

The same feelings and emotions run rampantly through me as I stay with friends and family.  Not because of a lack on their part, ever.  It is simply because, at some point I must still close a door and find my pajamas and wash my face and busy myself until exhaustion overtakes me and I turn out the lights of wherever I am, and put my head upon Chuck’s pillow and my hand on his flag that rests at the head of whatever bed I lay upon…and sleep the sleep of a dead man who wakes frequently from that sleep to toss and turn.

Here’s the thing:  there are many ways to keep busy during a day, but night invariably arrives, and, in sleep, my body knows.  My mind, that part that lurks behind the daily activity..my mind knows his absence.  My heart that aches through the day but strives to keep balanced in spite of the ache…my heart knows his absence.  And my soul…my soul that knew his soul and cannot be separated from his soul…my soul recognizes his absence, and my mind and my heart and my soul feel his absence more clearly in the evening hours and into and through the night, and I ache. Oh, how I ache…

I was a woman energized in all social situations.  I always knew what to say and I loved being in a crowd of those I knew, or didn't know, and I was good in crowds, and now that woman is gone and I feel her absence just as strongly and I feel awkward and mostly I don’t know what to say to anyone because mostly what I want to say is that I don’t know how to be here and I feel out of place and I don’t know how to find my place and I have no interest in talking about stupid shit and I end up feeling rude and socially inept and I want to say it’s loneliness please forgive me I don’t know how to be anymore!

So…mostly I’m silent and my mind is millions of miles away, somewhere and everywhere in the past, remembering and missing and wondering at the impossible possibilities of feeling all of this, yet feel so numb.  How it is possible to face one more day and one more night and repeat those days and nights constantly and continually while this loneliness of forever beats in me instead of my heart?

I am lonely.  Chuck is missing from me, and I am missing from myself~


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  • commented 2018-03-10 12:09:09 -0800
    Oh my gosh, thank you for this post! Sixteen months in now, I feel like the awkwardness and socially ineptness is only getting worse, not better! It’s scary. At least, in the beginning, after my husband passed, I think I had more memory of how to be, and act, and had better memories of who I was, and a stronger sense of self, just because it (I) was all fresher in my mind. As time goes on, I feel like my sense of self has gotten weaker, and it all gets more awkward, and painful. I feel like my self-esteem, not predicated upon being married to the greatest guy that ever lived, and loved like I didn’t know was possible to feel, has plummeted to the depths of not knowing what to be predicated on, anymore. I alternate from being very overly confident in social situations, to painfully insecure, and beating myself up endlessly for decisions and words created without a guidebook on how to be in the world afresh now, and now I question who I am (maybe, just maybe, that’s the point of it all, which is my only light in the tunnel of this darkness). Though I do grow concerned if I am being judged or disliked, as they can’t possibly know the knife of loneliness, and aloneness, we feel, that it’s all based on. I guess our loved ones will just have to keep on loving us through this, and we, ourselves. It’s not easy stuff we tackle.
  • commented 2017-11-12 18:53:51 -0800
    When my husband died, I buried me. I will never get past any stage of grief. I am perpetually missing the man who was my soul. I am no longer the person I saw reflected in the mirror of his eyes. I thought she might re-emerge. I was wrong. I live in a void. A huge chasm. I long for the end. Almost five years. I’m very tired.
  • commented 2017-11-08 20:19:11 -0800
    So beautifully said, thank you for sharing.