Numb

I wish I could say I’m feeling “comfortably numb,” like the song…  because at least that would imply a certain degree of solace.  However I’m not not at all comfortable, I’m just “numb.”  Numb as in; deprived of sensation, without feeling, deadened, desensitized, unfeeling.

Not crying. Not laughing. Not without hope, but not feeling particularly hopeful. Not optimistic nor pessimistic about potential outcomes.  Don’t feel like talking, because I have no idea what to say.  My husband keeps saying, “Please talk to me.” Which I know his way of trying to bring me back from the dark space I’m holding, but there is nothing to talk about.  There are no truths or absolutes. There can be no plans or alternative measures taken.

Again I find myself on the outside, looking in.  Wanting desperately to fix this, take away the pain, make it all better… but the fact is, I again can do nothing, but wait.  Wait to understand how bad it is. Wait to hear what “they” will decide is the best course of treatment.  Wait to know how much time we might have.  Wait, wait, wait.

I’ve been here before and by now, you’d think I’d be an old pro at it.  But it’s always different. The feelings are similar, but not quite the same.  Each time I’ve been hit with this news, my brain has taken me down a completely different path. Memories are different, feelings are different, the pain is even different.

The numbness however is the same. It must be the minds way of preventing an overload or breakdown,  which is a good thing indeed!

The news and latest updates will all too quickly start trickling in and chipping away at the numbness, bit by bit.  Soon I’ll start receiving information and have to start thinking, analyzing, calculating, making decisions and dealing with what is.

Until then, I’ll reman here and remain numb.