Breaking up and breaking open

I must preface with, I am so relieved that the children are with my parents right now. I can't imagine how I could do this, all that I must do, while still managing a semblance of who they need me to be.

I have had space to fall apart.

I have come to my knees and I have I bowed my head to the floor to cry.

I stayed in a heap on the floor until the shaking stopped.

I have succumbed to fear.

I have withered away, physically and mentally.

I have had space to realign the crookedness I feel inside and to disjoint myself again with thoughts, forward thinking and fears while I fumble toward the life I asked for.

I miss them but if they came back tomorrow, it would be too soon. I am not whole yet.

I still feel as if I am in pieces--an array of pieces that do not even look as if they will ever fit together and so what the fuck do I do now?

The only thing I can do--the only certainty I have counted on the last two weeks.

I cry. I break-down. I smile again and walk with air under my feet. I hope and I dream. I fear and I shake and I tremble and I write this at this moment with a knot in my throat because the rawness is palpable and I have yet to find space to breathe.

When will I breathe again?

When will I feel healed?

When will it not hurt so much that I will be able to eat a meal without feeling as if the pain of my existence has already filled the space where the food should go?

I have days when I force the food into my mouth and I gag as I swallow because I have no hunger--no lust.

Just fear.

Just raw fucking fear--the kind that swallows your breath before you gasp for it. The kind that sends your children away when they just might be the only anchor you have.