Half a person left behind with PTSD

As I noted yesterday, I'm feeling "halved" by the experience of losing my life partner. 

And, the loss equates to "failure" since I'm wired for family constellations which please the central woman in my life (these would be mommy issues but it's so much more complicated and sophisticated than that).

So it's complicated not only by the fact that my marriage failed over and over, but because my ex has only one response to those who doubt or disappoint her—ghosting.  She's been gone since 2012, though she reappeared for 10 more years because she had nowhere else to go and she felt she'd been ripped off, shortchanged, and that I was not good enough for her.

(Or is anyone else.  But don't disagree with the Ghost or you'll end up as roadkill like me.)

I can feel the missing parts of me every slow step of my life, and every moment, even when I'm asleep. 

I can feel it in the weakness of my muscles, and in the inability of my organs to regulate and process.  I certainly feel it in the grieving tears that launch without notice at every provocation, and wash the lines on my cheeks.  My old smile lines, settled.

I feel it in my lack of taste and appetite, and my struggles to listen to others.  I wait alone on my couch, for fear that I'll miss a text that hasn't arrived in over a dozen years. 

That's the PTSD…classic symptom. 

Maybe Zoloft is helping?  Other treatments have provided insight but healing is not occurring.   Grieving, as I said, washes over my trauma but leaves the bones.  Pretty bones, by the way.  I loved my life and know that if the Ghost loved hers together with me too, she would not be doing the shit she does.

Ghosts ghost.  That's their game.  I met my ex when she ghosted her first husband, so I knew the price I’d pay for sharing my closet space. Ghosting is all they’ve got.  Hide and seek is a kids game, and there's where ghosts learn their technique.  Leaving the other kids out looking for someone who's not there any more, as the sun sets and the neighborhood street passes the gloaming hour.

Hurts like hell to be ghosted by the person you loved more than anyone else.  I haven’t found anything that helps.  Not even the passing of the years.