Hollow

This morning I feel like one of those hollow chocolate bunnies, the kind you get for Easter. The heat has turned up, as we get closer to the day when I pull away from my home and marriage with my three kids in a moving van to let it all fall apart, it is causing this feeling that I might dissolve, cave in on myself. I am so very sad this morning.
I need a friend. Not a phone call or an email, but flesh and blood to just sit with me in this pain - the way Dwayne reminded me Job's friends did after they ran out of answers.
There is a deep ache. I have this sense of wanting everything to go "back to normal" and yet I can't find a marker in time where that ever existed for us. It was always me, trudging along, trying to appear as if we were like everyone else. Now I find I wasn't even able to fool myself. I have reached the end of my strength, my resolve. Boxes are everywhere - tidy packages of the pieces of my life - a life I no longer know how to go on with.
The desperation threatens to overtake me. I never wanted this. I don't want it now. I want him to be the hero, to come crashing in to save us from this worst moment in our lives together.