Grief: Somedays it Feels Like a Terminal Diagnosis

"The really crappy thing, the very worst part of grief is that you can’t control it. The very worst part is that the minute you think you’re past it, it starts all over again. And always, every time, it takes your breath away..." -Grey's Anatomy

I've been doing so well; on the surface.  At work - I've never felt so needed, so valuable, even if my managers don't acknowlege it or see it.  At school - My professor actually pulled me aside to say how impressed she's been; considering I'd just had a c-section.  My kids are crazy about me (most days).  Jim keeps telling me how I'm a good person, a good mom.

But my house? My car? They're disgusting.  A literal disaster zone. My fridge has one gallon of milk, a package of pre-cooked pasta, a 6-pack of Dora yogurt, and a lone beer.  My bedroom doesn't have one square foot of cleared space, let alone clean.  Except the five foot by three foot space on my queen bed where I spend my non-working hours.  Even my headboard, and the other half of my bed are covered in newspapers I haven't read, fruit snack wrappers and empty Diet Coke bottles.  I'm ashamed. For myself, for my kids to live in such squalor.  Yet, it's all I can do to run a load of laundry (all the way - through the washer AND the dryer) in one 24 hour period.  

I have not slept since 7:30 Am yesterday.  It's 1 PM. It's been 30 hours and I haven't nodded off even once.  I haven't eaten anything other than a few chewy granola bars and 2 cups of coffee.  My head hurts so bad, it brings tears to my eyes and steals my breath sometimes.  I know I need to sleep. And eat. But I can't. I don't want to. 

I want someone to lay next to me and hold me... but there's too much other stuff going on.  Everyone else has forgotten. Has moved on.  I thought I had too.  But here I am.... wishing I was dead.  I suspect this is not the progress everyone else anticipates from me.