Drowning

I’ve still got your number in my phone - even though you don’t know or listen, I still call and wait till the tone just to hear you say, “leave a message.” Since you’ve been gone, I’ve had to find different ways to grieve. There’s days that I don’t even want it on my mind, but tonight I’m weak. So, I’m going to pull out pictures – ones with you in them. Laugh and cry a little while reminiscing by myself. I can’t help that all I think about is how you were taken way too soon. It isn’t the same here without you. I’ve got to say, missing you comes in waves, and tonight I’m drowning.

I know you’re in a better place and one day I’ll see you again. But it’s killing me we can’t be face to face, I miss my best friend.

I know it’s a part of life… but I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

…

I wish I could take credit for those words, but I can’t. I stumbled upon this unreleased Chris Young song by accident earlier this week and when I heard it, it pretty much knocked the wind right out of me. In three short minutes, he was able to capture every single feeling and emotion that I have felt for the last 123 days.

I feel like I can’t keep up with the world around me – it keeps spinning and moving and everyone keeps doing all of the things they are supposed to, but I am stuck. Like I’ve been stunned into a hazy, clouded fog that sucks every ounce of energy and normalness from me.

I’m anxious, angry, and exhausted all the time. I’m sad – so sad sometimes that I can hardly think. My body is sore, my soul aches, and I struggle to make it through each day without falling apart. I feel weighed down, but yet - I stumble forward. I keep going, because that is what is expected. That’s what I’m supposed to do, even if it’s more than what I can handle.

This, my friends, is what they call depression.

And it can be terribly, dreadfully lonely.

Kind of like what I imagine drowning would feel like.

It’s weird to be here – in this place, with feelings that I’ve never experienced before. I’ve suffered through losses and heartbreaks in the past – ones that I never thought I would survive. Painful experiences that I foolishly assumed were just about as bad as it could get. Boy, if I could go back in time and tell my pathetic, naive little heart how very, very wrong I was.

Why does this time feel so different? And more importantly, how does anyone ever get through it? How is it possible to feel everything and nothing at all? If anyone knows the answers, please let me know.

The weirdest thing about this “place” is that I feel like I have lost who I am. I don’t recognize myself or the person I have become. Loss has changed me. Losing mom has made me… different. And to be honest, that scares me.

I know I’ll never be “better” and I’ll never be the “same”. No matter how many days pass, February 10, 2019 will forever be ingrained in my mind. That single day permanently altered the person I was and the life I knew. And that really, really sucks.

But then I remember that I am not the only who who has felt like this. That I’m not crazy and that I will make it. I’ll learn to live again – even with this massive, Terri sized whole in my heart.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Music is medicine. It’s my go-to drug of choice in the moments where I feel like I can’t survive one more second with this suffocating heartache. There are so many songs and so many lyrics that just move me, that remind me that I’m not alone. That even though I might feel like I’m drowning, there are so many people in my boat just waiting to dive in and save me.

Please be patient with me. I’m still learning how to swim. 💙