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Here's another old blog of mine.  It was when I was contemplating dating again and all the trouble I was having dealing with people.


Hard to breathe.  Burning in my throat and chest.  Queasy stomach. Throbbing headache.  The depression is back.  My shattered heart strains to keep together with every beat.  There are tears screaming and burning behind my eyelids, aching to be released.  Why am I here again?  Oh, that’s right, I thought I saw a light at the end of the tunnel.  Its no wonder people become mean, or numb, or hardened.  You can’t continue to wind up on the floor knowing that forever will never be and expect to get up unscathed.  How do we just move on when everything’s come undone?   I find myself struggling not to become someone I’ve fought hard to not be.  I’ve always been the one capable of being that sweet, sensitive, caring, fun person.  I cannot continue to be that person if I continue to hurt like this.  A big part of me wants to fall in love again.  But yet I find myself this morning wondering why or how I can begin to open myself up for that knowing that one more blow to my heart and it will turn cold.  Have I had my life’s happiness?  Do I have to take the 7 years I was given with him to get through my own remaining years?  Will no one look at me like he did?  Will no one want to hold me close and help me put the pieces back together?  Oh, that’s right, I’m just a friend to all.  (Can someone explain to me why?  What is so wrong with me that I’m not “dating material”?) 


Have you ever stared at your phone, waiting for it to ring proving that there is life out there thinking about you?  I have.  I do it more often then I’d care to admit.  I hate this!  I’m not this person!  I’m not the kind of person who enjoys wallowing in self-pity, self-doubt, blinding loneliness.  I used to be so strong!  I don’t need a man to stand on my own.  I don’t need a relationship to feel happy, but damn, do I want them.  Maybe I’m just spoiled by what I had. 


I’m so lost.  Some days, I’m ready to move on, put myself out there, but one tiny setback, and I’m slammed onto the hard, rock floor that has become my pit of despair.  You know what?  It’s my own fault.  I wear my heart on my sleeve.  My life’s tragedy was opened to the world, my grief spread on pages of public print.  Many know my face and my grief.   I can’t seem to step out without someone asking “How are you doing now?” “Does it kill you looking at your son, because he looks exactly like Tim?”  Are you fucking serious?  Look, I know people care, but honestly sometimes I wish people would realize that I don’t need reminded of my situation.  I deal with my pain every damn day.  Isn’t there a point where I’m allowed to move on?  Isn’t it about time that I am viewed as Shannon, as ME, and not just the tragic, young widow?  For crying out loud people, if I’m out attempting to enjoy myself with my friends, don’t remind me of what’s wrong with my life!  Let me be!  It’s been long enough that I should be allowed some due rest. 


“How am I doing?”  Damn, I hate that question.  Do you honestly want to know?  Because I have a feeling that it will make you uncomfortable to know that answer.  Or do you just want me to say I’m fine so you can sleep better tonight? I get so tired of not knowing what to say to people.  Do I talk about my feelings or stuff them down for everyone else’s comfort?  Do I tell new people/new friend about my story, leaving myself open for their speculations on what I should or should not be doing?  What about a person I’d like to date?  Do I talk about it?  I hate having to wonder what or what not to talk about!  I was always the nurturing one, the one there for everyone else unconditionally.  I’m having a hard time being able to let someone be there for me like that, let alone knowing who I can do that with.  Everyone has their own lives to worry about.  Who has time for me like that?  Who can I go to without being pushed away from being too clingy?  I just want someone to wrap their arms around me and let me cry.   I need to not be judged for my emotions, but be allowed to express what I feel without fear of rejection or the need to justify or explain them.  I know that’s asking for too much.  We’re judgmental, opinionated creatures of habit.  And who can I honestly ask to give up that much time for me?  And who would honestly want to do that for me?  Who am I?  Oh wait, I know that answer…the tragic, young widow.  Oops…I forgot. 

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