They have already multiplied, as of the latest story I read. Soon we will be overwhelmed again by Delta and God knows how long the lockdowns will be again. Indonesia and Thailand are overrun now by this variant. Our inoculation rate is low and we have run out of vaccines here in Metro Manila.
I’m tired.
I only got out of my room to make bento. Then I slept the day away. I think I’m sick or hormones are out of whack again (hello premenstrual syndrome!) and I’m aching all over. I promised the girls we would be riding our bikes in an hour but I’m sooooo 🤒
My cats are driving me nuts. They meow like they’re dying if they get shut out of my room. Then they do the zoomies around my small room while I try to sleep. They follow me to the bathroom. They sit or lay on my table when I work. Or underneath my table. On my chair. On my chair’s headrest while I work.
I should buy cat leashes so we can take them for walks so that they can expend more energy instead of zooming all over the apartment.
Today marks the 7th month since I died. Or the old me died.
It is hard.
Climbing out of that dark pit of grief, anger, and self-pity is soul-crushing during a pandemic. You are left with your thoughts for days on end. You can’t see you friends or distract yourself by traveling or just going about your normal business such as working at Makati CBD.
Oh they said, “You’re still young, you can find someone else.”
The thing is I don’t think I can trust someone again. I don’t think I can go all through that pain again.
I have children, you see. No one would love and accept them except for me, as proven by this experience. I don’t want them to experience the kind of rejection that I experienced from J. I didn’t tell them that J didn’t like them that’s why he left, among other issues. He left when they were in my hometown with my mom. When they came back, Tito J was already gone. No goodbye whatsoever. He left like a thief in the night, like a typhoon that passed us by.
Those 7 months were hard. As I said here before, those were the hardest months I had since my dad died. I tried my darned best to keep my head above water because I had two human beings depending on me for survival so I had to survive too. I needed to save myself before I could save others.
I’m better now. I’m a bit proud of myself for not making an ass of myself infront of him during my darkest hours. Of not asking him to change his mind and come back. Of groveling at his feet.
But the grief is there, it never goes away. I just have to be a bigger person so that ball of grief won’t hit my inner walls that often.
Seven months. Back then I didn’t even know how I would survive the month. My only goal then was to survive the day. Take it one day at a time. I couldn’t picture myself in seven months but here I am, frayed but still intact. Still finding my way out, trying to find myself. Still figuring out what’s the best way forward.
But maybe this is the way forward. I don’t know. I mean, I have a general idea of what I want but the details are not clear. I had been with my current company for seven years, the longest I had been with any employer. I am feeling the seven-year itch but I’m not sure if this is the best time to jump given the difficult economic circumstances. But my doors are open and I’m already looking around. If the right opportunity and timing is right, it will land on my lap. As God has always done.
