Writing prompt: resistance

This time I am supposed to write about the thing I resist because I feel like it will break me. The thing I avoid doing because I honestly don’t think I can handle the pain it would cause.

I have faced and submitted to so many absolutely agonizing things over the last 11 months. There were countless things that I thought were going to kill me. I was stunned when they did not. I faced things I once would never have be able to imagine in my worst nightmares. So, one would think that I wouldn’t be afraid to face anything after all that. They would be wrong.

I have two things that I still resist. I have two things I do my best to avoid. Even the thought of facing them hurts me so much that it steals the breath from my lungs. The pain and fear wrap around my throat like cold hands and I cannot draw a breath or speak. My heart feels like it will stop. My body is filled with adrenaline from the desire to run but I’m frozen in place. I tremble with the agony of it.

The first of these is to go through my husbands clothes and give most of them away. I know it’s what I need to do. I know he would want me to give them the the mission so the less fortunate can use them. I can’t.

Those were the clothes he was in when I was in his arms, when we made our memories. Those are the clothes that touched his skin. Those were the clothes he wore when we lived and loved and laughed. Those represent him and his style and his life.

The idea of looking at them, let alone giving them away, makes me want to scream. The fact that they are in containers, in a back room upstairs where I can’t see them, even haunts me. I don’t know if I will ever be able to take those clothes out and give them away. I want to be able to but, for now, I can’t. I can’t even say these things out loud. It hurts too much.

The second thing I am resisting is speaking to him. I can’t do it. I want to say all the things I wish I could tell him to his face. I want to sit at his grave and pour my soul out to him. It’s not that I think he can hear me. I don’t believe that. That’s not the problem.

This particular issue is more complicated. I’m not entirely sure all the reasons why I can’t speak to him. I can’t do it out loud and I can’t do it in my head. I can’t even write it down. My mind won’t even let me consider it. I try to look at it and my mind shuts the door.

I’ve tried to talk to him. Everything comes out as sobbing screams. Either that or I can’t breathe at all. The worst agony I feel these days is in the words I’m incapable of saying to him. I want to tell him everything on my mind and heart. I want to do it for me. I can’t. I just fucking can’t.

I’m so angry and hurt and sad and confused and lost since he took his own life. I think I’m afraid of addressing him because I will have to feel things that I don’t want to. I also think maybe I’m afraid of the act of saying the words to him will make me let him go. I also fear sometimes that if I speak to him, I will truly be admitting what happened and that my mind and heart will break the rest of the way at the realization.

There are so many emotions. They conflict and swirl inside me. Many things I do hurt. These two things, though…

They feel like they threaten my sanity and my existence. For now, I’m going to allow myself to resist. Someday I will face them. I just can’t yet.

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