I think that there are times in everyone's life where they can look back and say "Yup, that's where life broke me". Some of us are lucky enough to experience this only once, get up, brush it off, and continue on; none the worse for wear. I however am finding it harder and harder to get up. I swear..I think Karma has me singled out to make me her bitch.
There is just not much more this girl can take!!
B always told me that I saw the world through rose colored glasses. I do. Or at least I did. I look for the good in everyone and everything, sometimes blind to what it is doing to me as a person until much much later. I have become much less happy go lucky since B died. My bullshit meter is always on high alert. I have all of these negative emotions that I never really had before.
I'm bitter about being ignored.
I'm too jaded to form new relationships because I know, inevitably, they will end, so what's the point?
I'm angry that my tragedy got lost in the shuffle.
I'm sad that no matter how many times I wish that this is all untrue, it's not.
I'm annoyed that we will never get to resolve our last argument.
I'm heartbroken that my boys will grow up without the experience of having such an amazing father.
I'm devastated that we never got to say "I love you" one last time.
Negativity is not a good head space to be in. On the flip side, super positivity never got me very far either. Is there middle ground somewhere? A place where I can have good days and bad days and not feel bad about either one? A place where I can find that balance that B brought to me?
I sure as hell hope so.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
Paralyzed
Ever have one of those days when you couldn't leave your bed? Today was one of those days for me. My anxious brain has kept me paralyzed for the last few weeks. Paralyzed from being able to get up and participate in life.
In my kids' lives.
In school.
In writing.
In anything, really.
These are the days when I miss B the most. He used to get me out of my head, into the shower, even sometimes out into the real world. I might not have been able to stay that long, but he made me do it. On the days where he couldn't help, he would just crawl into bed with me and stay there. We didn't have to talk about anything. He didn't harp on me, he didn't say mean things to guilt me into pretending to feel better. He would disappear and come back with a pint of my favorite ice cream and two spoons. He would just let me lay there and cry and snuggle into my "nook"in his arm until I could move again.
Now, all I have is some pillows. It is so very much not the same thing. There is no one to stroke my hair to get me to calm down and tell me that it is going to be ok. No big strong man arms to hold the weird world at bay. No one to walk through my worries with me and point out how we could fix them together. No one to just hug me and whisper that this too shall pass.
I do the therapy thing.
I try to do the friend thing.
I would do a support thing but there aren't any.
There is a difference between the obsessive thoughts in your own head and trying to share them with other people. Especially other people who haven't walked your path. When they are in your head and you are rolling over and over them, all the what ifs, every possible catastrophic outcome rears it's ugly head. When you try to share them, you feel like you sound ridiculous. You realize you have complained about this same thing to these same friends a million times. Then you realize that maybe your incessant need for support is draining on everyone around you. Then you wonder why you are just realizing this now. Then you wonder why you bothered to try to share them at all. Then you wind up back in your own head. It is this horrible cycle of badness. Learning how to break this cycle by myself without my biggest supporter just isn't cutting it.
In my kids' lives.
In school.
In writing.
In anything, really.
These are the days when I miss B the most. He used to get me out of my head, into the shower, even sometimes out into the real world. I might not have been able to stay that long, but he made me do it. On the days where he couldn't help, he would just crawl into bed with me and stay there. We didn't have to talk about anything. He didn't harp on me, he didn't say mean things to guilt me into pretending to feel better. He would disappear and come back with a pint of my favorite ice cream and two spoons. He would just let me lay there and cry and snuggle into my "nook"in his arm until I could move again.
Now, all I have is some pillows. It is so very much not the same thing. There is no one to stroke my hair to get me to calm down and tell me that it is going to be ok. No big strong man arms to hold the weird world at bay. No one to walk through my worries with me and point out how we could fix them together. No one to just hug me and whisper that this too shall pass.
I do the therapy thing.
I try to do the friend thing.
I would do a support thing but there aren't any.
There is a difference between the obsessive thoughts in your own head and trying to share them with other people. Especially other people who haven't walked your path. When they are in your head and you are rolling over and over them, all the what ifs, every possible catastrophic outcome rears it's ugly head. When you try to share them, you feel like you sound ridiculous. You realize you have complained about this same thing to these same friends a million times. Then you realize that maybe your incessant need for support is draining on everyone around you. Then you wonder why you are just realizing this now. Then you wonder why you bothered to try to share them at all. Then you wind up back in your own head. It is this horrible cycle of badness. Learning how to break this cycle by myself without my biggest supporter just isn't cutting it.
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