I've been grieving but I'm a lousy drunk. I can't drink well at all. Last night, I opened one of those minature bottles of Merlot made for one lousy drunk and had two sips and said, "Not tonight, dear."

Not tonight, dear but I was all alone. I've been grieving all alone for a long time. People do not understand grief or what to say to those who grieve openly so those who deny suffering eventually get angry with you if you show your grief. They have hidden their grief - pushed it down, claimed the grief has disappeared or drunk or drugged the grief into some mask they don't know they are wearing.

The grief becomes that piece of toilet paper, soggy and stuck to the shoe, dragged from the public toilet into that bright artificially lit chain store. Other shoppers may notice but will think the polite thing to do is not to acknowledge or point out that toilet paper.

If grief was toilet paper, I would have a lot stuck to me in big and little pieces. If only toilet paper was a high fashion statement but instead I want to hide because I do not wear toilet paper or grief well. I no longer speak of pain, hurt, loss or grief openly.

We are supposed to be a happy people with no worries. All the self-help, think positive books and programs say so and they must be right with their authoritative words like: don't worry, you better be happy or you will be a drag or dragging toilet paper and we will just ignore you because you are not happy and you bring us, bright, positive, better than you people down.

I carry big and little pains like bed sores that will not heal. I have been praying for bed sores to heal - not my metaphorical bed sores but my mother's very real bed sores. I have been praying for my mother's infections, amputation wounds or whatever can possibly heal on my mother, to do so on what is left of her slowly dying and pain ridden body. This last journey with my mother has been very slow and the toilet paper is becoming a heavy pile to drag.

I am losing strength carrying these pains, hurts and griefs. The burdens have snowballed into one giant ball of toilet paper and I am only rolling along buried in the pile. Can you imagine me in that chain store of pajama people hurtling down an aisle while I am encased in a toilet paper ball with only my hands and feet sticking out of the gauzy white circular swath?

Do you think people would notice then, once the toilet paper was moving me along instead? I am too weak to care who notices but I feel very vulnerable. I need to protect myself from those who think they know best, or worse, those who would enjoy poking me for their amusement or gloat.

I feel wounded and need no help to feel pain. I have lost strength and for a while, I laid down and wanted to die too. My mother's impending death has brought much to light for me and is the wound that will not heal but I have been knocked down and lacerated repeatedly for quite awhile.

Please forgive me if I do not stand. Please forgive me if I do not smile. Please forgive me if I haven't gone to the gym and now I'm even weaker.

So I have been swimming and  trying to get myself back to a semblance of this wonderful happiness and all positive powerful thinking everyone thinks will make everything perfect so just do it. So, last night, I just did it. I went to a gym for the first time in over a month.

I belong to two gyms in different towns but I went to the gym that I have not been to for at least 4 months since I broke up with the man I met at that gym. I went to the gym and found out when I put on my gym clothes that I am fatter. When I went to bench press, I found out that I am weaker but I decided to go easy on myself and lift with less on the bar knowing if I persist I will get stronger.

I went to this smaller gym at a quiet time when I thought the man I had dated would not be there. He was not there but after I was 5 sets into a poor chest workout, he came into the gym. What to do? I missed him, I still had feelings for him. I needed to protect myself from him.

What is the matter with me for still loving him? I did not want him to see me, attempt to talk to me or be able to hurt me again. I am still dragging toilet paper from him. I went back to him too many times before at his request only to have him get angry with me and abuse me. I would run away and hide from him to protect myself.

I'm lonely for a man. I want a man to hold me and really love me. I hurt and want to be comforted and loved in return. I hurt and need to cover my wounds and drag my toilet paper somewhere safe.

I know he could not have missed my white Mustang convertible with the black canvas top parked in the lot. He knew I was in the rural small town gym. I thought slowly and decided after a couple more sets, I would go to the locker room, put my black dress on and drag my toilet paper home.

I put the top down on my car, started the familiar engine, and pointed the car home. The twilight night air felt good. I cranked the music and changed stations. I had a good cry in my driveway before I got out of the car. When I finally got my sorry, toilet papered self in the house and settled, I grabbed a minature bottle of Merlot and after a couple sips, confirmed that I was a lousy drunk covered with toilet paper.