Nonetheless still trying.

It's been almost three months since I lost Momma. Eighty days. And somehow, it still feels unreal and like it all happened this morning. I have little flashes go through my head and swear I can hear everything that happened like it's still happening right there, no matter where I am.

I'd be lying if I said I haven't been struggling. There are days that it feels like it might be better than others and then the next day comes and it's like starting all over.

I'm still unsure of what to do with myself and while I try to remember only good things and keep myself busy, it doesn't seem to be helping.

I thought that starting a few house projects might help me stay busy and keep my mind occupied, but I find myself so exhausted that it's sometimes hard to make it through the day, let alone do other things.

I've always been a prompt "get out of bed as soon as the alarm goes off" type of person. Never one to dilly-dally or hit snooze. But now, I find that no matter what I reset that alarm without fail every single morning. And it's not so I can get more sleep, because sleep eludes me. It's because sometimes I honestly feel like I can't get out of bed.

It takes every single bit of strength I have to pull myself up and start moving.

I no longer fix my hair or wear makeup, but manage to brush my teeth, wash my face, and get dressed.... most days. And those couple of things bring me to the point of exhaustion so quickly that the rest of my effort is used for quite literally dragging myself through the day. Honestly, dragging.... as in all of the energy of effort I can muster at one given time.

And some days, I feel like I might drop.

I try. I'm trying. And I feel guilty for not "doing more" but also can't seem to shake off the weariness that now seems to not only be ever persistent, but a permanent fixture in my life.

I've always prided myself on keeping a clean house.... my house is a wreck more now than not most days. I've always smiled through my work days even when I wasn't having a good day.... I can barely drag myself in each morning and afternoon. Pook is forever trying to help and do what he can to make me feel better and happy.... it's not his fault, he tries, I try, but some days I can't seem to focus enough to even have a conversation. I love cooking and baking.... but now find that I would rather have takeout or chicken nuggets, because the process of physically standing to cook or bake in any capacity makes me want to collapse. The thought of being around people gives me anxiety attacks.

Actually, anxiety attacks are now a regular occurence, as well. More often than not, I kind of just want to lay on the couch in the fetal position and not have any light anywhere in the house.

But, I'm trying. Because as I've said before, and I will be forever convinced of, she would kick my ass if I didn't.