I started drawing again...it happened in my mind, then started escaping through my fingertips. I realized in the far-too-early, moonlit hours of this morning, when I woke dreaming of drawing and with my hands furiously at work before the rest of me came to life, that I had something that needed to be on paper. So out came the paper (one of the joys of living alone--drawing at 3am!), and it came to be. Perhaps, as I get brave, I will share it here where there is always the off chance that someone will find me.
My drawing started as a self-portrait...but I quickly noticed that it was simply a shell. I was hollow. And I realized that's how I'm beginning to feel again. The wonderful happiness that entered my life and my being shortly after Bs death has just seemed to ooze out of me, leaving nothingness in its wake. I think that the sadness and loneliness are there, but are more of the cloak I wear than what fills me.
I've learned, though, that *I* get to choose what fills me. I DID choose, for maybe the first time ever, after B's death. But I let those choices slip through my fingers, through my bones, and float away with the tides that have at times carried me gently and at times slammed me to shore over the past weeks. If I could choose once, I can choose again. What will I choose now?