August 14, 2021

58 months and counting, Jon is still gone. That fact has not changed, but I have changed. I do not like the person I have become and who I am. How can I expect anyone else to like or care for me, if I do not like myself, first? This reality is not just complicated, it is dumbfounded and horrifies me. In the mirror, the face that glares back at me is betrayed, abandoned, diminished, muted. This face is seen only by me, and disappointed eyes share knowledge that can only be uttered in telepathy.

Fractals. I have talked a lot about myself being a fractal, having a life in fractal form to be exact, and since loss, thinking I am still me, but just in different scale. In nearly five years, I’ve learned that a life without my husband-partner is certainly not just in different scale and is definitely not the same fractal, at all. I am in a fractal I do not recognize. It’s a whole new fractal dimension, an entirely new ratio in which I exist without clean air or adequate light. Without enough sunlight, I don’t feel the time of day. Things don’t grow well here.

The hard truth is, this “life fractal of me after Jon” is completely new and, after nearly five years, still feels unknown. It is not a safe place to be. Do I want to know this fractal and do I have to be here? Is this truly me? I am extremely reluctant to be weaving and teetering along curves, hesitant to step on angular planes, and feel I am falling awkwardly into blossoming and unfamiliar patterns. Everything feels forced here, operating at a speed I cannot control. This fractal hurts, over and over again. It is pain unending and stares at me in the face without blinking or apology. There is no comfort or reprieve. There is no getting out if it.

The only voice I hear, is my own sobbing and swearing at seeing a mess that cannot be made-sense of, organized, or cleaned-up. There is no time to pause and scream for help. Looking with watered eyes into a contrasting design that has no softness or color, its depths are void of joy and love is in shadowy, obscure form. If only I could see clearly what is in front of me, but then, direction makes no difference here, all around me is the same. This “life with loss fractal of me” is insanity personified. There is no variance. The same pattern appears ongoing and infinite: Jon will always not be in this life ratio and he is gone. ~Paula

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