I want time to stop. But maybe not all time, just mine. I want to have a window of existence where all responsibilities are absolved and nothing is expected of me. The simple task of responding to a text message is enough to take me overboard right now. The constant calls and texts of people checking in are so thoughtful and I am thankful for them, but it is a constant reminder that I am in a place of mourning.
I wish I could throw away my phone and all of my to-do lists. Conjuring up the effort for simple tasks is so daunting and elicits minimal return on investment of energy, for what little energy I have left.
I imagine myself on a beach somewhere on a deserted island. Blue waters, white sand, soft breeze. Absolute stillness and quiet with the occasional small ripple of waves to the shore. I could sit for hours, feeling peace (maybe), and feeling calm (maybe).
Normally this thought for me would be followed by, “but does this beach have music, or a bar, or activities?” But I’m not that girl right now. The things that used to trigger an excitement inside of me don’t have the same affect. And I worry if they ever will again.
My desire to be on a deserted island feels fitting. My insides feel like a deserted town. A shell of a place that used to be lively and thriving, but now, “Closed” signs don shop windows, and the flowers and greenery are wilted to the ground. The town isn’t completely destroyed. That was the initial thought. Once some of the clouds of dust gave way, it is a relief to see some of the buildings still standing. But they are somewhat unrecognizable, and the town members have no time or energy or resources to rebuild.
Looking around the “town,” or myself, is a reminder of how much work I have to do to feel “normal” again.
I don’t even want that.
I want to abandon the town completely and settle on a sliver of sand in the sun.