I feel like a shell of myself.
I feel like I'm here, but not really.
I wonder if Ben can tell when I am playing with him or reading to him, how absent I am. How I am doing these things just because I am supposed to and I should. And I want to, but I am not really there.
Every morning, it takes an insane amount of energy to get out of bed. To get dressed. My stomach growls and it feels so empty. Sometimes I can force myself to choke down some food. And sometimes I can't. Some days I don't brush my teeth until 3 pm. Some days I wonder what I am going to do with myself, and suddenly it is 4 pm and I should think about going to pick up Ben and try to get some energy to try to be a good mom to him. Such a time warp.
I never knew how debilitating grief is.
Even the smallest of jobs seem like massive feats.
Like leaving the house.
I didn't know how completely exhausting grief is.
Physically and mentally.
Every night, I crash. Once Ben is in bed, I want to crawl into bed myself.
I want to sleep all night and all day and have someone wake me up when this nightmare is over.
Or at least, when it doesn't hurt so bad.