Unwanted Blank Canvas

BUSY!

Busy busy busy.

The school year mercifully began and September has sped by. F23, as I lovingly refer to the fall semester, relieved me of the summer slowness that made me question my purpose and unleashed the you-asked-for-it busyness of the academic year that now threatens my sanity.

Here it is, Friday night. Rain relentlessly drums down. There is no sports practice to facilitate after all. There is no reason to head out. For me that is, because my children are out. One is at a friend's home and the other has taken the car *by himself* to a high school football game. An unfamiliar, unsettled silence has settled on my home and is right up in my face.

The frenetic buzz of do, check, double check, create, teach, communicate, achieve has given way to... I don't know how to finish the sentence. What is left? What is there for me in the silence when I am finished doing? That is THE question. Nobody needs me.

The world keeps turning without me doing anything "productive" or anybody knowing what I am doing at all.

I can do whatever I want.

What do I want?

Do not ask me that. Ask me anything but that. Ask me instead about the abundent, obvious shoulds. I should clean. I should exercise. I should try to find a partner. I should make travel plans for the holidays. I should do the reading for the class I paid to take. I should grade the quizzes I gave to my students today. I should prepare the remarks for the new students in my program that I am scheduled to deliver tomorrow to them and *their parents*. I should do something. (Do-oooooo Something!)

But... What do I want?

That's an entirely different question. It's not that I do not know that answer. Oh, I do. It's so easy, so automatic, it's as much a no-brainer as the unconscious, do-it-while-asleep scratching of poison ivy that I experienced this summer. The answer is not socially acceptable, or it is not to most normal living people. That is why I don't pour my guts out here anymore (not that anyone reads). What I have to say - truly honestly baring my soul no lies reveal - doesn't engender understanding. It elicits silence. Concern. Suggestions of seeing a therapist for "prolonged grief." Pity. I hate all of that; it makes me furious. But I still want you to know because I am hurting so badly and have no escape valve. I want you to know because it could have been you and if it was you, then you'd understand I'm not a freak. 

There is only one true thing I want and it's this. It is STILL this. It is ONLY this.

I want him to come back.

If he came back, everything would be okay again. I would not be uneasy, I would not doubt my decisions, I would not hate myself, I would not be overwhelmed, I would not be paralyzed, I would not be disgusted by the mess around me. If he came back, I would not be living this life anymore. If he came back, I would not be the me that I am stuck in now. If he came back, I would only be purely happy to be in his presence. I could relax. I could stop thinking and over-thinking. I would feel loved and seen and heard and be at the top of his list. If he came back, I would not be alone. I would finally be home again if he came back.

On this solitary night when I could do anything I wanted, I choose to put into words what I truly want. The tears pour down my face and I choke on the sobs because what I want is just not possible. The only thing I want is literally impossible.

He is not coming back.

The busy and commitments and exhaustion veil that, they obscure the void. They are just an elaborate defense mechanism even while I tell myself some of the activity is aimed at exploring a next chapter. If I'm busy, I am okay. Brain otherwise occupied. But when distraction is stripped away, like on this quiet Friday night, I hurt.

I want him. I want to share all of this mess with him because it never felt like a mess when we were together. And yet he is no longer. I don't know where that leaves me... I struggle with seeing my own value. There is much work to be done. Am I doing it in the busy? Or, am I avoiding it?

What am I supposed to do?

That is the wrong question. My brain doesn't understand that there is no supposed to. It's more like I'm a painter with a fresh, unsullied canvas and I get to lay down the colors, but I was never an artist in the before life and I don't want the opportunity now. The blank expanse of the surface is overwhelming and I'm not skilled or energetic enough to create a quality picture at 46.

I don't know where to start starting over. I don't know how to want anything other than him. He is hardwired into my being and he is gone. It makes no sense.