Thursday, July 12, 2012

The Bad Place


I don't know why I elected to write a blog today. It isn't the best time to do it. I'm in a pretty bad place. You can gasp now and cover you mouth and hurry away to do something more important. I said. I'm. In. A. Bad. Place.

I know people that by now, I should be fine  and life is moving along as it should. I've no doubt it is moving along but for me, it is not moving as it should. I struggle with this monster, Grief, daily. Yes, every single day. And yes, after all this time!  Oh, you won't know it, not really. If you saw me face to face, you would think I'm my old self. I blog and vlog and talk with people daily at work, mostly people who don't really care what I think or feel.

I've learned a lot from death and about grief. Most of it I've tried to clarify in my blog. I know it isn't fun reading but I made a pact with myself in the beginning to tell people what this was like for someone living it. I decided that after I learned people do not really understand grief and the average person doesn't care about other's grief until they experience it for themselves on a level that shakes their foundation. You have to actually watch someone die to know how I feel? Pretty much. It's why people avoid the grief-stricken. They don't want to know or be reminded.

January 29, 2013 will be four years since Jerry died. I do not fall apart in front of people. I do not fall apart every four hours. I don't even fall apart every single day. I probably average every other day. It doesn't last as long as it did because like all exercise, the more weight the easier it gets to carry it. But you still carry it. One learns how to build a facade that no one can see beyond. There are some wounds you cry about and then there are wounds that hurt so bad you can't cry. When you can't cry, pain can actually get worse.

I've learned that you don't get over it. You don't stop hurting. You don't forget. You don't stop missing, longing, and hoping. It is a hopeless hope. You hope, knowing it won't, can't happen.

I've learned that you can hide huge amounts of sorrow from the world. You can hide numerous secrets from people simply by smiling and saying, "I'm fine." The average person will go no deeper than that. One could say, "Actually, I'm terrible." As I did at the start of this blog. The response would be, "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." And that's it. The average person quickly moves on to find someone else with a happier outlook or some really good gossip.

I've stopped seeking most company. I spend virtually all of my days and nights alone. I see no one outside of work and no one calls. Yes, I could call people. I have a few I could call. Why? I don't have anything to say. There is nothing to tell anyone. There is nothing in my life that is worth relating to anyone. And no one wants to hear it. One out of town family member calls regularly. Mike calls to check on me a couple of times a day and before he goes to bed. He's afraid, I suspect, that something will happen to me and no one will find me in time. He knows about living this way better than I do. He lived it first. He has no one but me. And for me, after four years, nothing has changed. It hasn't become easier. I just have no choice. So, the walls go up, mortar and brick carefully laid.

I think about going places. I even start planning where I could go. There are lots of vacation ads at the moment, ads with lots of smiling people and laughter. People cooking out, camping, running on the beach, dinner with lots of smiling faces. I stay home because there is no point. It won't be like that for me. Ever.

I am very tired. A sure sign of depression and fibor flare. I sleep when I go to bed but I could also sleep hours a day if I had a chance. When I'm home and not sleeping I sit and stare at the walls, Jerry's photos, the furniture, Jerry's photos, watch whatever will keep me interested for more than 30 minutes so I'm not thinking and not staring at Jerry's photos. No I won't put them away. This is where he lives. This is his home.

I do the housework myself now and maybe that's a good thing. It gets me moving for short bursts. And then, I have to sit down. I stare at the walls again. I read in short bursts. I've read over 20 books since I bought my Kindle at the first of the year, some good, some crappy. I may dabble at writing. I go to bed. I don't remember going to bed, usually. As soon as I lie down I am asleep.

So, in the grand scheme of things, life is uninteresting and empty.  I am empty. Yes, I've tried filling it. But the hole in the vessel is too large.


Citation: Health Benefits of Crying

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