I was watching this weird apocalyptic movie where this woman was dying in her dilapidated cabin. Her daughter was taking care of her, hoping she would somehow make it through. But her mom said, "Live your life. I'm dying so that you can live." I started to feel that lump in my throat, trying not to cry. And then a few days later, another movie said the same thing: "I'm dying so you can live." And a day after that, I heard a sermon talking about Jesus, saying, "I died so that you could live." I know what it means, but I'm not "living" yet, Mom. I'm trying my hardest to work with this new life---this "new normal" or whatever they call it. When does it get easier? I honestly think she was the only person in the world who truly knew me inside and out. Now what?
Coincidences? Who knows.
Even as God stripped away my desire to drink alcohol (which I prayed for)---my sleep has definitely improved. But now, with the anxiety and grief creeping back in, I could sure use a drink. It's been three months since I stopped drinking like a fish. My sleep has improved, but my anxiety has remained. But then I get a reminder...
"I am leaving you with a gift---peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid." --John 14:27
Bear with me as I try and get through this crinkle in life. Therapists say that grief has no time limits or rules, but I don't want to lose myself either. I'm just feeling a whole lotta sadness right now. I feel extremely lonely, yet I'm not pressing to be around anyone either. Hopefully, I will wake up from this dense fog and finally see the sunshine that's been beating down on me this whole time. In the meantime, I'm here. I'm still alive. Somewhat.
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