Heavy and full of nothing

I am heavy with something besides sadness.
I am heavy with the internal battle of having no hope, but wishing for hope.
I am heavy with the words you never said to me, the answers you never gave me, almost as much as all the shit you did say.
I am heavy with pain, with tears, with frustration, with anger, with weary disgust with myself, with you, with the last year of my life, with the word and feeling of HOPE.

I HOPED.
Now I am just heavy.

I feel the depression. If I'm honest (and fuck if I am, to a fault), I felt it creeping in months ago. I tried to hope it, grin & bear it, pray it away.
But it didn't work. I knew it wouldn't.
My mind knew that none of that shit was enough to stop this storm, this dark brooding cloud coming to hang out, hang over me, until...who knows?
My mind knew that I would need to do more than smile, pray, step away from the situation that was weighing down on me.
My mind knew I couldn't handle all the shit drama that I felt was filled with lies, after one lie.

(ONE.LITTLE.LIE.
You say.)

My mind knew I would need to learn how to cope, how to take care of myself in the midst of something I could neither control nor accept.

I failed at all of it. And I felt that cloud.

It's here.

I am in a fog at all times, a dull ache behind my eyes and in my jaw, an almost-ringing in my ears when the silence of 3am wakes me from a deep sleep. My eyes burn and water. My neck is tight, waiting for the next punch, the next day filled with your inaction and overflowing with your words that I USED to believe. The cold yet hot hole in the pit of my stomach, causing me to forget to eat or pay bills or seek the peace I so desperately needed for so long.

I forget to take my makeup off at night. Why bother?
I forget to write, to read, to care, to laugh, to have energy.

Yet, somewhere within me, beneath the layers of fear and fog and sad and angry and numb and raw, I wish to have all of those things back, to do all of those things--

I want to get up and feel the joy of the sunrise. I want to walk my dog or work out to exhaustion, and feel the ache in my muscles, in my bones. I want to leave my house, my couch, my bed. I want to try on new clothes, buy something that feels sexy, and flirt with someone.

I want to have the strength to push through this fog, and move on.

MOVE ON.

But I can't. Not yet.
(Why? Why? Why?)

So I allow the fog, this storm cloud to stay. I grow comfortable in the shade of it's darkness. I spend far too much time arguing with myself about whether I am being too hard or not hard enough on myself right now. I spend too much time inside, isolated, away from friends and strangers alike, sad, heavy.

I cry at ridiculously sweet things. Things that force me to remember the brevity of life. I cry when my daughter hugs me at night, a familiar worry creeping into and out of her eyes, reaching my center. I cry when I think of wasted time, of how much I miss HIM, of how much anger I have for him and that one lie that ruined what I thought we had.
I cry when I think about this being never-ending. And then I think "What if it does end? What if it does get better? Then what? Will it last?"
I cry because I am lonely. And alone. But I isolate myself as well. I don't know how to lift this fog, clear away this storm within me.
 I don't feel normal around others. Yet I know I need to be around people who really love me and care for me.
I am slow around others. I feel my face growing used to my lips set in a stance of sadness.
I feel like a fake, a fraud, so opposite from my usual, more relaxed and peaceful state of being.

These non-smiles are heavy.
These thoughts are heavy.

When won't it be heavy?