Anniversary

I was perusing through PINTEREST. There are many quotes on this site. I've created a board for the ones I find useful. There's something soothing about seeing the advice of dead people in your present life.

Though inspirational, I feel like the need to search for such things is symptomatic of a deeper problem. Some of them are obvious like losing love, others are for those meek dreamers who need the nudge to grab hold of their dreams, and the lastly, there are those quotes that encourage us to live. To survive yet another day.

I resent those the most.

I saw one that said "You were given this life because you were strong enough to live it."

I am a coward. I will admit to that. I never signed up to become a survivor of anything. I was just placed there against my will. Before the intervention of ingested serotonin, I lived a life tortured by the memories of the past. I don't think it's something to be proud of. Are we supposed to look down on those who couldn't stand the pain and left early? To pity them for not enduring through the pain? Is it weird that I used to envy them and their fate?

Meeting my love so young in life was probably a good thing. Fate had something to do with that, I'm certain of it. A body can only endure so much sadness before it withers away. My soul was paper thin by the time I met Paul. I was being held together by delicate threads of naive optimism.

Right now, he is signing papers for his life insurance policy. And it's laughable to me that he's worried about what I'll get when he's gone when I don't want any of it. Not a single penny.

There won't be much point to life after he is taken from me.

I don't want to think of life after Paul. I don't want to endure more. I'm done with that. I refuse to go through it anymore when he's gone. I don't want to be looking at Pinterest boards for motivation to live another day. My heart will be broken and I will not care about anything.

Why does the rock need to be smooth and polished by the pounding water? It's a metaphor for life, I know. You want to be the polished pebble in the end. But I don't want that. I like me, my rock, the way it is. Jagged, sharp, and big. I don't want time to smooth my temper. I don't want the erosion of grief to dull my edges. I don't want loneliness to lessen my formidable presence into something fragile.

I don't understand why strong has to be a description I need to attain.Strong is an adjective we're supposed to admire.  I don't want to be strong. The energy it takes to fight and survive another day is a small puddle in my parched spirit. The day Paul leaves me? Yes, it will evaporate into tiny bubbles and a desert will appear. I am sure of it with a certainty that is probably shameful to admit. As I said, I am a coward.

I'm okay being a coward. I don't want to be strong. Though I will fight Death when it tries take my life, I will not rage against him when it's my turn to go. I probably will call on him first.

I have a feeling I won't have to do much. There's a condition, Takotsubo cardiomyopathy,  where a broken heart can cause heart failure. The grief of a loss is so much, you literally make the heart stop functioning properly and die. There are people who die like this. I wonder if I will be one of them.

I hold on to Paul every day and I never take a moment for granted. We're getting older together. Him with his bald spot, me with my thinning gray hair. Tomorrow is our seven year anniversary but we've spent more than a decade together. It terrifies me a little just how much more I love him now than I did then. If I get any higher with this love, the fall will kill me.