My life by the numbers

12.  The number of years I have been with my husband. I met him when I was only 19 years old.  Looking back on it, that seems so young.  It also doesn't feel like I've spent twelve years of my life with one person.  I always ran after a few months.

13. The number of years my grandma has been gone.  A person would think after thirteen years the loss would get easier.  It does not.  I loved that woman so fiercely. So many of my lifes memories are with her.  The sound of her voice, the smell of her cigarettes, the way she tapped her foot when she sat, the lipstick she wore.  It still rips me apart inside knowing she is gone, she never met my husband and she never saw my children. 

19.  The number of years since my biological father died.  He has been dead more years then I even knew him.  I only knew him for twelve years.  I still go through ups and downs with that.  I still go back and forth between, "I don't need him, he left me," and, "Why was I not enough for him to stay around?"

21.  The number of years I've been best friends with Ginger.  I've known her longer but we didn't become best friends until Mr. Mclains fifth grade class.  Twenty one years I've had the same best friend.  She knows every single one of my secrets.  EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.  That is over half of my life that one person has been a part of.

The numbers in my life amaze me.  The age of my children, it feels like they were only  babies yesterday and in about two weeks my oldest son will turn eight.  It doesn't even feel as though I've had him eight years.  The number of friends who have come and gone.  The number of men I slept with.  The number of medications I've tried to straighten my mind.   My weight.  It's all a numbers game.  I'm going through one of those times, the times when everything is black, when I miss the things I've lost.  When I can't find it in myself to love myself.  When I can't stop eating and the numbers become about the number of cookies I've eaten vs. the number of carrot sticks.  The time when I feel like pulling my hair and screaming while simultaneously feeling like crawling in a hole and crying in the dark.  

I talked to my husband about some of it. About my fears.  My fears about how many more numbers I will see.  How many more years will I have with him before I go crazy and lose him.  How many more mistakes will I make.  How many more pounds will I gain.  

The numbers.  

They float around and around and around in my head.

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