The Dryer in My Head

It tumbles. That's the analogy. I'll clear it up at the beginning. Mainly because if I don't you will think I'm simply crazy. I do nothing simply.

I was for about 24 hours, nearly happy. I got frightened on Saturday because the thought had even occurred to me! Never say you're happy or nearly happy or could be happy. I'm paying for it today. I asked for it, of course. I can't seem to get my head on right. Can't seem to keep a check on my emotions. Disappointments abound.

Sunday was a stressful day, not a day of real rest. I was feeling very shaky and emotional Sunday morning. I went to church, spent the afternoon reading stuff online and watching t.v. shows on Hulu. I went to church Sunday night and dear Sis. Powell asked me to sing. I did. It was fine. The last time I sang that song was Sunday night, Jan 11, 2009, our anniversary. I announced that it was our anniversary and that my husband deserved a hand because of all the stuff he'd put up with for 35 years. I will never forget the smile on his face. Jerry would be dead in 10 days. Amazing the kinds of things you can remember. But I forgot to get hairspray at the store yesterday. I forgot to pick up my medicines from the pharmacy. I forgot to get fabric softener. Life is truly filled with trivial details better forgotten. Most of the crap we deal with just doesn't matter.

Last night, I just wanted to see him, for five minutes, to just hug him, rub his cheek, talk to him about all the things that I was dealing with, to hear him say not to worry, even though he knew I would. I said as much to the air. I said I knew it was impossible. I agreed that if I saw him it would only make things worse. I mean, that's why we don't see people after they die. It would be a constant reminder that we can't touch them or be with them in any real way. We can't be hugged or kissed or hold hands. I can't imagine a more horrible nightmare. To see someone you are connected to by heart, mind and body and not be able to reach them. Stephen King couldn't write it. I admitted it but it didn't change a thing. 

So, I dreamed. I dreamed he was there. I could feel the skin of his cheek under my hands. I rubbed his shoulders and arms and hands as if I was trying to absorb the feel into my own pores. I hugged him. I kissed him. I snuggled against his side. He never spoke that I can recall. And I woke up this morning not sure of what day it was or what time it was and feeling cheated and anxious. And tired, as if the effort to hold on to him had been too much.

I feel as if I'm being tossed in all directions. I can remember as a kid getting at the top of a hill and rolling down. We came up laughing and ran back up to do it again. It isn't fun anymore. I don't like the dizziness. I feel as if nothing is stable and secure and that the whole world would collapse at any moment. Is this what insanity feels like? I only write this because I thought if I did I might understand it a bit better. Or that some of the fear would dissipate. It hasn't worked so far. Because it is fear. An overwhelming sense of no control and no stability. This is a high wire across the Grand Canyon and there is no net. It is the Ferris Wheel with no brakes.

Jerry took me to the fair right after we first married and moved into our own apartment, probably in the fall of 1974. We rode all kind of rides. I had ridden a Ferris Wheel once in my life when I was about 10 and never wanted to again but he talked me into riding this double Ferris Wheel. I was terrified but he convinced me it would be fine. It wasn't. I got so frightened I couldn't open my eyes and I thought it would never end. Afterward, I went home and was sick to my stomach and had to go to bed. I've never ridden another one. I wish I could stop this one and get off.

It is all confusing. I stay confused and that is the most frightening thing of all. When I woke up Saturday, I was clear headed and thought that maybe things were going to be better. I had this notion on Saturday that the world was going to stop tipping on its axis and knocking me down. I fluctuate between a sense of light ahead and an all encompassing darkness. I can't keep the light long enough to feel safe. This isn't depression as I know it. This is something else. Is this grief? I don't know. I don't know what it is. Maybe I'm the one whose dead.