Day 74: Even Target is Not Safe

You will be constantly reminded that a limb is missing, that your heart is broken, that your worst half is no half at all.

Red plastic cart heading down the aisle, picking up a box of size 3s and size 5s. No he’s not potty trained yet, thanks for asking, and for pointing to another indicator that my life is a mess.

And, oh look! Flannel button downs. How cute. I wonder if they have that one in a medium–or would a large fit him better?– and… Fuck.

Never mind.

I hate Target.

And maybe my life right now. And no, I DON’T WANT A RED CARD.

You see, I’m a nurturer. I didn’t realize that, exactly, until I was on my way home from tonight’s Target trip. Everything I do, I think of the kids and Husband first.

Target trips, grocery story, everywhere, I find myself thinking “does he need this? would he want this?”

And no, he doesn’t. He needs a sponsor and a therapist and a clue.

And I need to stop thinking of his needs and focus on my own.

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