Page 22 of Broken Bonds

I’m so tired.

Tired of crying.

Tired of being here.

Tired ofliving.

They’ve been gone for nearly a week, and I feel as if all the life and desire to keep on living has drained out of me. I don’t want to be here anymore.

To do this anymore.

To live without them.

It feels like my soul was ripped apart as each of their ties were severed, nothing but jagged, rough pieces remaining in their wake.

Being with them is all I want. There’s this constant ache inside me that won’t subside, and each breath feels like a stab to my heart.

It’s said that death is difficult, but I think that living is the most difficult thing one can do. This universe is already so unforgiving, especially to those beyond their understanding.

Anyone would suffer if they lost one bond. Losing them all will strip away your will to carry on. Over time, the anguish of losing the ones that make you feel safe and secure becomes too much, the thing that once brought peace and tranquility slowly destroying you.

I’m sure of it since that’s what I’m currently enduring.

A complete fracture of my very soul.

My body is sapped of energy, and I can’t find the motivation to move. No will to get up and take care of myself.

I recognize I need to. It’s just a battle.

If Jilly wasn’t here to take care of me, keeping me hydrated and fed, there’s no telling what would happen. If not for her, I would be stuck in a rut with no end in sight.

I know I can’t go on like this, but it’s so hard.

It’s so hard to make myself keep going, to get up and take care of myself as this crushing weight holds me down, slowly suffocating me.

Regardless of my love for my babies, I’m still stuck in this dismal fog of sadness.

Failure is already imminent, and they haven’t even arrived yet.

Even when you know what you should do, it’s difficult to act. Taking care of myself for the babies is important, but the closer we get to the funeral, the more I feel like giving up. No matter how hard I try, I find myself wallowing in this despair, repeating to myself in my head how I justcan’t.

The older omega at the group home I’d lived in once I became a preteen would always say, “Can’t never could, little girl. So, get to it,” with an eyebrow raised and a no-nonsense attitude. She wasn’t mean or anything; she was just a hard ass. But she cared about all the kids in her care in her own way.

I would love to use her logic in this situation and motivate myself to quit saying “I can’t”, but no matter how often I hear her words in my mind, it’s not as effective as when I was a child. Not this time.

Their shirts lay all around me in the bed, but they’ve slowly started losing their scents. The more it fades, the deeper into this depression I fall and the farther I pull into myself.

How will I cope when I can’t smell them anymore? When their scents completely vanish? Will the way they smelled fade from my memory as the time passes?

Oh, look. It seems I can cry some more.

Silently sobbing, I lie there staring ahead but seeing absolutely nothing in front of me. I make no effort to get rid of the tears trailing down my cheeks onto my pillow or take the time to wipe my dripping nose, a deep weariness sinking into my bones at just the thought of lifting my arm.

Everything is so draining.

Moving is exhausting.

I jolt as little flutters in my belly startle me, and my hand instinctively drops to curl around the spot I could feel them. As my hand rests on the spot, I can feel them pushing against my hand, reminding me they’re here. They’re still here and they’re dependent on me.

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