B.K. (Before Kids) – I read voraciously. Nothing to improve my mind, that is seriously overrated. I mainly read trashy romances. Historical, Paranormal, Modern, you could say I’m a connoisseur.
The historical romances always seemed to find a way to work in mourning clothes, or going into mourning. I understand that better now.
I full on lost my shit at Target today. Finding chicken bullion led to a breakdown in aisle 8. It reminded me of the last day, where I was so frustrated over what my husband bought when he went to the grocery store. I was mad because he bought ground pork instead of ground sausage and 20 pounds of potatoes instead of 5. I said something in my irritation, I can’t remember what. It was small, I was blowing off steam.
But is that what he heard? That’s the funny thing about depression. I had no idea he was depressed, but I’ve been there once, very deeply, myself. I understand what it is like to twist what you hear or to focus on particular items. Did I make him feel less than?
Every conversation we’ve had replays in my mind. Any time, I turned away from cuddling, or being woken up for a 2 a.m. romp and said no. Did that feel like rejection? I know what I meant, but how was it heard? What did he think? I used to think we understood each other. Now I question everything.
Hence, the breakdown in Aisle 8, at the McDonald’s drive-through, and in the school entryway. Now I understand why they wore mourning clothes. It wasn’t about the mourner, it was to warn everyone who came into proximity with them. I have picked two fights with strangers over small things I would normally let slide.
I still walk, I still talk, and I can still smile. But I’m no longer me inside. What was once filled with love and happiness is now an empty void that occasionally fills with anger, grief, or sadness. I go through the motions, but I’m not really me. I can’t help but wonder, is this how he felt inside and I couldn’t see it?
Cancer Ever After 
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