Autopilot and Fog

Autopilot through a fog is not a great way to go through your day. No matter how unwilling I am, that little brain mechanism winds itself and makes you go about your day.

I cannot remember the last time I slept well. My bags have bags underneath my eyes.

The numbness that has taken over my existence is a heavy, clingy weight that I cannot remove.  Nothing is the same without her.

I try to be positive and oh how I pray.  I never prayed for myself much. Mostly that I could do God’s will through my hands and not kill one of my patients.  My prayers were reserved for the clergy, the suffering, the marginalized, our military and first responders.  My family I always pray for.  All of them

Today I pray just to have enough strength and faith to get through the day.

The stress of grief is taking its toll.  I find it extremely difficult to smile. When I do it’s fake. I hate fakers. I turned into one. I’m exhausted.  A lot of days I just want to throw the fuck it switch.  The medicine I am taking to help get me through this makes me sick.  My thoughts are with her.

My silver lining are the people who have my 6. The ones that just patiently allow my grief.  They don’t have to say anything. They listen when I think my heart broken and battered already, is about to rupture. Quiet hugs with no words are the best.  They remind me I am still here.

My other silver lining is Our Most Blessed Mother. She has held me up even when I push her away. She is always with me. I am blessed with my family, work family and my friends.

Upright and breathing is my new motto.

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