It’s been 10 weeks since my boyfriend died of a drug overdose. I’ve stopped counting the days, but the number of weeks that have passed still comes to me naturally. It’s become a mark of my identity. I don’t think there’s anything more painful than the raw despair I felt in the days after he passed. But 2 ½ months after his death, just when I thought I was gaining some control over the situation, there’s been a heavier overlay of sadness than I’ve experienced for a while and it’s a new kind of pain. I’m guessing it’s because the shock is subsiding and the numbness and disbelief are beginning to wear off. My brain is beginning to process my reality. I’m being forced the accept he isn’t coming back. Thing’s feel more real than they did a few weeks ago and my pain has gotten worse. Memories and thoughts of him are immediately followed by the crushing realization that we will never again do whatever it was I was reminiscing- whereas before that was to incomprehensible to absorb. Every day I find myself wondering what he and I would have been doing had things been different. Whatever we would have been doing would certainly look different than my days do now- starting my mornings trying to gather the courage and energy to start another day in my new world without him, fighting through the pain and trying to move forward.