It was a falling apart kind of day, especially the morning. I could barely hold myself together. I spent lunch crying again. I was mean and on edge with the kids. I couldn’t stand the adults. I couldn’t look at them and really couldn’t speak to them except when I had to. I don’t like myself this way.
I said something very inappropriate to my class. One of them noticed Greyson’s necklace and I had yesterday’s comments fresh in my mind. I was very calm and I showed them Greyson’s name and said that it was my baby’s name. They were surprised I had a baby and asked about him. I just said he wasn’t with me anymore. One student asked if he got sick and died. I said yes and that I missed him. One girl said that was like when her sister’s baby died. I said that is sad when that happens. Then I went on with reading a book to them. I realize this was not a good thing to do. Even while I was saying it, I realized I shouldn’t be talking about this to six year olds. I would freak out if my kid came home saying that the teacher had a dead baby and was talking about it. Probably none of them remember it or will say anything since I was somehow able to remain casual about it and it was light years ago in kid time.
I should have taken more time off. But what good would that do? He’d still be dead. I’d still be in pain.
Normally, there would be a woohoo kind of feeling at the end of a day like today. I made it through the first full week after break. There are two full days off ahead of me and it’s payday. But the woohoo feeling never came. After the kids are dismissed, I realized it was missing. I’m not happy or even relieved that it’s the weekend. The weekend is just something else to get through.
Every breath is heavy. I do what I have to do, but look forward to nothing. It’s all pain and there’s just more of it on days like today. I feel like it will never get better, I’ll be in pain always and there’s no way to make it go away, no relief, no way to forget.
I’m so tired.
I wish I could stay in bed and cry.
But even crying doesn’t take the heaviness away.
I visited the cemetery again.
I cryed hard while the snowflakes flew.
Then, walked into the drugstore and pretended I was a normal person.
When I got home, I looked at myself in the mirror.
For the first time since I lost Greyson, I tried to meet my own gaze.
I didn’t recognize the eyes looking back at me.
Is this what a nervous breakdown feels like?