Dorito Fat

If I can just get this buttercream frosting right this day will end perfectly. I can’t focus and I am stupidly trying a new buttercream recipe. My mantra right now is “I am so stupid, I am so stupid”.  I really need to eat a cake. A cake with buttercream frosting. Baking a yummy cake will take away this loss. So what if today is THE day. I NEED YUMMY CAKE DAMMIT! Today, exactly two years ago, Peter died. I am having a very difficult time cramming enough food into my gullet to mitigate this soul crushing pain. I have tried Doritos, three bags in fact and not the little ones, the Party size. I have eaten so many Doritos I am now trying to convince Overstreet that “no really I am Dorito fat”
I am now on to cake but not just any cake, I need yellow cake with homemade buttercream frosting. If I could just eat the WHOLE cake without any evidence that there was ever cake in the house but that is unlikely as it is 1:30 and my kids will be home in less than an hour. Plus the fact that my daughter is like a truffle pig when it comes to baked goods in our house.
O.K. just bake the cake, then eat the cake, avoid the pain, bake the cake, then eat the cake.  The cake turns out disastrously and my lovely new buttercream frosting curdles. Fuck my life. The cake solution won’t work with no cake. I am lost. I am lost. I am Dorito fat and I have no cake. I can’t bear this pain and I can’t yet accept that food is not the answer.
I am so…sad isn’t even the right word. I am crushed and lost and heartbroken. It feels like someone has plunged a knife in my heart. I can no longer bear this pain. It’s the anniversary of his death and it feels like Peter is dying all over again. How the fuck is this so fresh right now?
My kids have come home by now and after a quick kiss hello to both I run up the stairs and hide in my bathroom. The tears start to flow and this time feels different, harsher, more raw. My doctor and other widows and widowers tell me this pain is to expected at the two year mark because of circadian rhythms and the shock wearing off etc etc etc.
Whatever the hell this is I hate it and I proclaim this as I am lying on my bathroom floor in the fetal position. Just then it comes to me…Doritos! Wait! Fuuuck! There is no solution to this loss.  There are no words anyone can say to alleviate this pain, I am stuck with it, forever.
This two year mark has kicked my ass and truthfully, I might deserve it. During my time in my grief counseling group one of the members said that the second year is much worse than the first. I scoffed audibly at such a notion. My thought being “ I got this grieving shit down, dude.”  Quickly proceeded by another cocky, condescending thought “Obviously Chris, you aren’t grieving correctly.” Well Chris, fuck you for being right and fuck me for thinking I was better than you or anyone else. See lost.
I am still lying on my bathroom floor and time has passed, maybe ten minutes, maybe ten hours, severe pain makes time grind to a halt. That is exactly what this is, severe physical pain. My face hurts and the tears now burn as the continue to stream down my face. As I get off the floor, I am starting to realize that I am in chronic pain and maybe I should treat myself as such. Chronic pain, eh? Maybe I can get a medical marijuana card for this situation. Maybe I can go to the doctor and simply explain to them that I have an ache in the vicinity of my heart and when they ask me what I think it is, I can just say…”umm, maybe acid reflux, maybe a touch of angina or maybe…possibly, it’s the fact that my husband, confidante, lover and the only man that has ever loved me has left this earth never to return. Hmmm, maybe I can get a medical card for being chronically dramatic.

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