There are times in this life that I feel so very alone. PTSD, TBI, and life with my dear hero kind of have a built-in isolating effect. While "normal" people have an easy time sharing day-to-day moments and events with the people in their life, it takes so much more explaining when you're in this "world"... so often I just don't do it. There are few people who get all the way in to see the heartaches, worries, frustrations, and sadness that I somewhat successfully hide.
But, the result of that isolation means that feeling a friendship slip away... one of the few "safe" places in my world... hurts more deeply than I could ever actually dare to let myself feel. And, unfortunately, I'm in that situation now. I don't really blame the friend. It's not easy be part of my world, even from a spectator position. But tonight, and really in the past few weeks, the weight of that missing piece of my tiny "no holes barred" relationship pool is just making me so sad.
I miss my simpler life... a life where it was fun to be my friend... a life where I was a better, not so distracted friend. Sometimes the cost of all my husband and I and our family has been through seems much steeper and more costly then I even want to admit. I respect and value my husband's service, and that of every hero who has served... but tonight I hate Iraq, I hate PTSD, I hate TBI, I hate the million little things that add up to this feeling... this crushing, unbearable feeling... this inescapable reality that a lifeline is being cut and there's nothing more I can do to stop it.
But tomorrow, I'll put my happy face back on. I'll keep going and pretending I'm okay until hopefully I am. There's no time for this... no room for this. After all, I'm the "stable" one in our household... the parent that is level-headed and "normal"... the wife that is also a caregiver and has to set aside feelings in exchange for reassuring her hero... the liaison to our extended family who is always on hand to make sure everyone knows that everything is "fine". I'll smile. I'll nod. I'll hold on by the skin of my teeth. And maybe, somehow, this won't hurt so much the next day.