Tomorrow makes it a month since I lost the person I loved the most in the world. I’m still crying on and off in bursts all day. I can feel a dramatic lessening of tension since the sexual assault trial was cancelled. It’s better for me not to go through it. It’s terrible for me that two governments have informed me that rape doesn’t count when it happens to me.

I wish Noah was here. I wish we were getting on with the fun of retirement and getting ever more intertwined.

Sometimes I write poetic things about how we were two trees too weak to stand alone so we leaned in and became one entwined entity.

Let me fucking tell you it is not god damn poetic feeling torn asunder because my love is gone. My soul hurts so much. I was not this hopeless when I was crouched naked, puking from the alcohol my dad gave me. I was not this hopeless when he held the gun to my head and asked me if I deserved to live and then told me to prove it with my mouth on his cock. I was not this hopeless when I decided that I could figure out how to get people to stop raping me–I’d take several boxes of sleeping pills all in a go and that would solve that. It didn’t. That just brought ever more fascinating levels of humiliation and debasement into my life.

Hopeless is not the water I swim in. I burn with hope intensely. But I had a magic man who made all my dreams come true. Then I lost him. I still want the satisfaction of seeing our science experiment through–will we create people who want to be in relationships with us as adults when they don’t have to? We’ve managed to miss the worst offenders that would make it likely. Now I get to find out how bad my fuck ups feel for the kids when their dad isn’t here to run interference.

Luckily we have practiced that anyway because he wasn’t around all day? I am deeply proud of my kids when they tell me I am speaking in a way that isn’t ok and it needs to change. Fuck yes. A long time ago I saw some sort of meme-thing that said something like, “Speak so well to your children that they will be indignant when someone doesn’t.”

That’s a mixed thing. Obviously as white people with financial stability we don’t need to be spoken to like we are better than anyone else. We fucking aren’t. Everyone should be treated with a base level of civility. When you observe someone giving less than that to someone else, speak up. I had a lot of conversations with Noah, and we did a fair bit of active role play, for him to learn how to make room for the voices of people who were not white men. He learned how to give all credit for ideas to the originators while amplifying their voices and expressing admiration for the excellent solution.

I was surprised when I heard my son rattle off to someone, “Of course I can tell you fifteen different reasons I think you are autistic. My whole family is and social interactions is one of our biggest special interests.” Like, I don’t know that I had really thought about it that way but it’s accurate.

I feel so overwhelmed by the magnitude of the struggle I have in front of me. I got a really great email from our old lawyer (who is now retired and unable to help) where she gave me a lot of advice about loving myself because I have nothing to give if I don’t feel cared for.

I don’t really have hope for any kind of future where I feel loved and cared for by a special person. I think I will get drips and drabs from many people and I will turn them into a glorious kaleidoscope of a quilt. Collectively it will be almost enough.

Noah will never hurry to bed smiling because he needs to metabolise for me so I don’t feel cold when I climb in after brushing my teeth. I will never grin like a fool and giggle with delight because I get to climb back in bed with Noah after my first wake up. The best man in the world picked me. I was so happy. I had so much hope spilling out of me for adventure and learning and growth.

In the widow group some folks were talking about how 9 or 12 months in they are still unable to do basic care stuff for themself and they are really struggling. I am feeling incredibly lucky that even though I don’t have hope I have a whole tanker vessel full of duty.

I am not judging these folks. They have not had giant really bad things happen very often in their lives. They don’t know how to adjust their self perception that quickly. They are struggling with how to evolve. They feel intense guilt about accepting that evolution will be necessary.

It’s been kind of lovely, actually, getting to the point where I see that and I feel a softness in my belly. I’m so glad you have overall had such a good life.

I lost the love of my life. That was just Tuesday. I was declared an unrapeable whore. That was just Tuesday.

It’s fucking amazing and hilarious that it’s true. Both things did happen on Tuesdays. I’m not going to bother looking back in my shit sandwich of a life to see how many of my shit anniversaries started on Tuesdays. I’m not feeling that masochistic.

Terrible things happening to me is simply par for the course of my life. I have had fairly brief periods where nothing bad happened. Even when nothing bad is happening my life is a hamster wheel of constant change in a way that would give most people vertigo. I don’t think people should be more like me. The training grounds are inhumane.

I am realising that I need to look at our calendars and think of them both separately and together because I don’t think the 4 of us can work perfectly in synch anymore. I think we need a lot more of people doing their own. I’ll still track with Shortie most of the time but I need to get some support so I can be an adult outside of parenting.

I am going to have to find ways to fill my own bucket. I don’t think I’ll get it close to full, but even 50% would be a big upgrade. I went climbing on Tuesday. I’m going to yoga today. Both things require cycling. I’m going to add social time with friends. Pam leaves in 7 days and that feels scary.

Luckily, she filled my freezer with dumplings because she wants me to have glorious vegetables to eat. Nom.

I need to get my head together enough to email the folks who are coming. I’m learning more about the shape of what I need. This is good. I feel sick but there’s no way out but through.

I’m afraid I am going to spend every morning for the rest of my life hiding and rocking and saying “I want Noah.” Well, I guess he has replaced longing for my mother. He gave me so much more comfort and love than she did and he knew me less time. I want Noah so much I feel like I will explode. I know it’s only been 30 days. Time will dull the knife edge of this pain.

I’m trying to pawn off my alcohol. I’m keeping some for cooking. Mostly though I am not permitted to do anything to drown my sorrows. I have to focus on health, stability, strength, resilience, and avoiding all things that compromise any of those traits is the first step. Time is all I have to throw at this horrible pain.

I wish I got to live a different story.