I cried. I sobbed. I fought through it as best I could.
It's one step forward and five steps back.
And still, the worst part is the loneliness. My mom can listen all she wants, but she's not here. There's no one here I can run and cry to without worrying that I'm annoying them.
On the phone tonight, my mom said, "I can't believe it's already been two weeks."
My response: "It's been the longest two weeks of my life."
It's the truth. Time seems to slow when you're struggling and doing all you can to look forward. When you're lonely, it slows to a crawl. That's the hardest part. I feel like I've been battling for years and it's only been a few weeks.
Quite honestly, it's torture.
"Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me."
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