Sigh. Nothing to be proud of

I was proud of my marriage. Of my NYC home. Of my NYC friends. Of my career. Of my pets! Of what I read and the movies I loved and the uniqueness of my thoughts. Of my athleticism. Of my parents.

Hubris…

All gone.

I feel strongly.  I know grieving. And remorse. And shame. And the decay of my body and mind.  

I doubt my ex has any of those parts.  I know she doesn’t think I deserve affection, kindness, respect, care, or the time of day. 

I don’t think people who run from others in need deserve respect. Nor do those who laugh at—or ignore—the pain they cause others. The gaslighters. Those whose realities change to align with their Facebook selves. 

I talked to my brother last night. His brain is disappearing. He barely can form words and they don’t link. It doesn’t matter. He’s my brother and we don’t need words. His pieces say more than all the false babble and meaningless chatter of my marriage. He’s lost in the static of injury, over prescribed drugs, and trauma as deep as space itself. 

Ceci my love is also gone. Another beautiful sunrise paints my room golden orange. I don’t know how much longer I can go on. Like my brother’s loss of speech, this too does not matter. 

Love. I have so much of that. It’s all I have that means a thing. It is larger than my life.