Wordless Wednesday: Protecting my Sanity

An Assault On Myself By Myself

Maybe I’m remembering this all wrong. Maybe I’m not the person I think I am. I have grasped tightly to the label “widow” as its definition most closely mirrors how I view myself, but is that even wrong? Do I even deserve that? I would have done anything for you, Ryan. We talked about this and I was setting everything up to make that happen because it was best for you – so it was necessary for us.

The abandonment by those around me, the ones who promised when no promise was requested, the ones who never made a promise to begin with, the ones you expected by default to stay and the ones you truly felt would…have they left because I carry a tag they think I do not deserve? Have they made the connections in the string of events, cast their blame, and turned their backs on me because of it? I hate them for doing that but I understand that decision, because I do carry the blame. I have chosen, months later now, to learn from the regrets but am nowhere near forgiveness for the guilt. The bits and pieces that are separated into those 2 piles are very well defined now; I am rational at least, enough to see that. Regrets would not have changed the outcome, they would have simply provided better memories to me, the survivor, and maybe for my Love, though not survived. The horrible details that are placed in the guilt pile are the ones which undoubtedly would have kept him here by my side. I do not wish for them to be in that pile, I do not choose them to be. They simply are. Perhaps then, to others, I am a person so unloveable and painful to be around that removing me entirely is a rational decision I just cannot see for myself. 

Perhaps I an addict to grief and unwilling to admit it.

I know my brain is warped. In a bizarre way it’s almost as if I can feel that I am not just chemically but structurally different.  Feeling physiologically incapable of tasks that you were otherwise competent to perform is so incredibly frustrating.

I want Ryan back. I also want my brain back. I don’t need a diagnosis because I already recognize this environment that I am residing in – one so atypical for me. I sit back as a casual observer wondering who this person is with an obvious aphasia, with anxiety, the woman who cannot retain information, who cannot carry conversations on with multiple people at a time because the conversations in her head cannot be kept separate from those flowing from her lips. Who is that person? This woman who observes herself externally…she studied this, this was her passion, the study of neurobiology put a smile on her face and woke her up for years on early mornings and kept her locked in a dark room late at night to better understand this phenomenal structure that is the mammalian brain.

That woman is now trapped by a mind she cannot escape, by a brain that attacks her when she least expects. Her decisions over the last 7 months and 15 days have not always been logical or appropriate, though she extends to herself forgiveness for those. But how do you continue to wake up when waking up entails constantly fighting yourself to hit a level best described as functional? If struggling for that is the best I’ve got, and if that alone exhausts me, how will I ever expect to hit a plane dubbed successful again? Why, Brain, why are you attacking me? Why, Body, are you so slow to recover and so quick to break down? I am not wallowing, I am fucking trying!

Group Therapy Reflections

I had the benefit last night of going to group but only 1 other person showed up in addition to the moderator. It left a lot of time available to talk about a lot of things. One thing that stuck with me is the stress added to those grieving by others - knowingly or unknowingly. It's been without a doubt the most unexpected and frustrating part for me. Some thoughts from about 2 hours of discussion:

Trying to make others feel better first

Scenario: the random stranger that cries when you share or start crying flips the table and turns into "oh gosh, I feel so bad I made him/her cry now I have to comfort them" or the obligatory "well his mom asked me to do this so I have no choice because this is tough for her" that the other attendee shared; these things halt the healing or minimize the stress of the

Different strokes for different folks

Scenario: after a loss what's hard for the mother/siblings may not be the same thing that is hard for the wife/husband different still from what might be hard for the friends. Not only is the significance of the loss different for each person but the triggers also. Not everyone remembers the person they've lost the same, either. The mom wiped their butt as a baby and stayed up when they had a fever or colic. The wife comforted not that person as a child but the grown man that was having a hard time, cleaned and washed and shared intimate moments with. The brothers and sisters perhaps fought as all siblings do, but ultimately made up and were maybe best buds and confidants for each other. The stories and the memories each shared may be different, the person that was lost will be remembered in different ways, which speaks to the next part:

The hierarchy of loss

Our facilitator shared that with us that a lot of people, try as they might, always label the loss of a child (regardless of young child or adult child) as the "worst". This honed in on what I'd posted recently about Why You Don't Want to be a Grieving Fiance. Maybe it is and maybe it isn't? But whatever is going on with the person you're talking to at the time -- it certainly sucks for them. So why introduce "well this could be worse..." or "at least you didn't lose your..." to them? Why?

She'd also shared that she tries to remind those when training them - someone who says they lost a husband/wife of 40 years to not give them more leniency in grief because of the amount of time. "Yes, that's horrible; remember you did get to spend 40 years with your soulmate...Some people find that person and they grief the past and the present plus the future" Robbed is the word I've used.

If people were more gentle and stopped trying to turn loss into a competition, our compassion to others for exactly what they're feeling and having to deal with in the best way they can would ease the burden of others if just a small amount.

The burden of the griever

I chastised myself (WHY do I do this?!) for it but shared how I feel the need to offer people something in return for spending time with me on a bad day (or any day...) "Hey, how about I bring over dinner for you?" or "Come have a beer on me..." because I have been taught from a few bad instances, by those that are less compassionate, that I am not worthy of being around (i.e. the just-stops-responding caller/texter, the always-has-something-going-on excuse friend, the you-can-talk-to-me-but-I'm-allowed-to-insert-my-two-sense relative, etc.)...

OVERALL---Be gentle with others. I will probably not take this advise for myself, but I say it regardless. 

Three-in-one

I sat in a group therapy today. I listened to people share losing their estranged brother, their parent, and their friends. I could only sit there numb.

In a single day I lost my best friend - who I shared frustrations and secrets with. My #1 confidant. The person that knew when I was girl-cramping and brought chocolate over.

In the same day I lost a parent - the person in life that's takes care of you when you're sick and tells you everything is going to be ok. That gives you advice and helps you through problems that you just don't know how to tackle.

It gets worse. I lost my fiance - the man who I laid next to and looked into his eyes and promised I'd take care of him. Who I told whether things were good or they were bad ---- I loved him regardless. The man whose bucket list item was to deliver our child, or maybe all 4 of them.

I lost Ryan on January 13. I lost multiple people at once all wrapped up in a solo package...the single most important person in my life. He was my best friend and my caretaker, my lover. He was the person I wanted when it was a good day or a bad day, when I heard a good joke, when I was sick or hurting. He was the person whose life I wanted to make easier, whose feet and back I wanted to rub and who I relied on and who depended also on me.

The anniversaries are hard but so is every day in between then. He was my Every Day - from morning wake up call to getting to be little spoon as we passed out and everything in between, I'm reminded nearly every second of the day that he isn't here. I still expect him to show up; I do honestly hope for it down deep. It's pointless, I know, because I lost my life almost 3 months ago. It's why I ask myself everyday why I'm even still here; it really doesn't feel like there is life after loss like this.

Nailed It

I've copied posts from the folks at What's Your Grief? before and ran across a moderately humorous but spot on "Grief & Loneliness" post which really needs no additional commentary:

The shift caused by significant loss can lead you to feel more isolated than you’re accustomed to. While you try to adjust to life in the wake of major change, it’s business as usual for those around you and it’s easy to feel cut off from family and friends, left out, alienated and misunderstood.  Not to mention, many people intentionally isolate due to feelings of anger, sadness, mistrust, helplessness, anxiety, and depression.  Grief and loneliness go hand in hand for a number of reasons but I’ll name just a few…

• The person who died was one of your closest confidants or best friends.

• Your friends stop calling because they feel uncomfortable and don’t know what to say.

• Your partner has died and everywhere you go you feel like a 3rd, 5th, or 7th wheel.

• You don’t feel like those around you are tolerant of your grief.

• Every interaction you have is filled with superficial condolences.

• You don’t want to leave the house because you’re tired of making everyone else feel better about the death.

• You don’t want to leave the house because you’re tired of having to reassure everyone you’re doing okay.

• You don’t want to leave the house because you’re afraid something will trigger your grief and you’ll become emotional in public.

• The things that used to seem important now seem pretty unimportant.

• You don’t feel like you have anyone to really talk to.

• People are pushing you to feel better and you don’t want to admit you still feel bad.

• You don’t want to admit you’re lonely.

• You don’t care.

• You’re struggling with anxiety or depression.

• An illness or disability makes it difficult to get out of the house without your deceased loved one.

• You can’t possibly think of where you would go.

I think so many people are also confused by what grief actually is such that seeing an emotional release or agreeing to go out, even if it's the only time the entire dang week, leads them to believe that you're "doing ok". This awfulness (for lack of any real word) - it's not an event or a single place in time. It's this modification of all things life - from staring at a wall at 2:45 in the morning to begging your phone to show a missed text or call from him to realizing the only thing I've eaten is a thing of yogurt and not really caring anyways. To hurting every. single. time. I go out and do anything or getting reminded of what no longer "is" by triggers throughout the day. It's the thoughts and feelings inside your head that sometimes stay trapped and other times manifest. It's knowing that it's bad but knowing that it will get worse. It's a loss of his life and mine. Looking back on the previous weeks and recognizing that even attempts at self care were pointless: I go for a run and am overwhelmed with hopes that a car will jump the curb and I won't have to worry any more, it's buying a ticket to a concert and then having a break down the night before and selling the ticket on Craigslist because there's no way I can go, it's leaving a movie early and deciding to never go back because there's too much to deal with in a 2 hour movie that should have been "safe". It's lying every single day that things are ok.

What No One Tells You: It Gets Worse

Oddly enough I ran across a "What would you tell your younger self about grief" post on WYG just an hour after posting. (http://www.whatsyourgrief.com/what-would-you-tell-your-younger-self/)

"Time heals all things"

"Just give it time, things will get better"

Closing in on 3 months and I can say with absolute certainty, at this point, it doesn't get better with time. I was lucky enough to float through a solid 2 weeks that were absolutely my period of shock.

Shock is great. It allowed me to get up at the service to deliver a eulogy. It's great because it let me take care of my mother-in-law who was an absolute wreck. It allowed just enough clarity to try keeping things in order and to experience things without breaking that I doubt I could now.

But it wears off. Grief gets worse. Day 1 was awful but it is far from the worsWith time you gain the ability to reflect back on the things that you experienced, to relive the event itself and to start processing what you saw and heard and what happened. And it's awful.

I know what I thought and felt at week 1, week 2, month 1... I have a morbid running count of days I haven't seen my Sweetie: 79 days today. It becomes overwhelming because I know how I feel now and I know that I have the buffer of denial still. Depression is still down the road. If there's a worse to come, how the heck do I deal with that? I had assumed in the immediate days after that maybe putting something on the schedule to "enjoy myself" in April, May, or over the summer would give me enough time. I can't believe I'm this far and at the same time so short. I can't imagine attempting to enjoy life on a vacation or adventure in the next month or the next 2, 3 or 6 months even.

Losing Ryan froze my life.

Maybe time applies to a much longer period. Or maybe those are just stupid catch phrases used by people that have never experienced loss.

It Just Hurts

It hurts. To have no one resting their chin in the nape of my neck as I drift off to sleep.
It hurts. To wake up in the morning and not see you there next to me.
It hurts. To be dodged and avoided at work or to receive, at best, pity stares.
It hurts. To listen to a story of a groom losing it at first glimpse of the bride.

Knowing I never get the chance to see you - my Every Day - do the same thing.

It hurts. To say I'm "doing ok"/"hanging in there" because "Well I haven't jumped off Pennybacker yet" is not an acceptable response.
It hurts. To be left with nothing to say - because realistically there is a set of unknown but expected actions and words externally imposed upon me.
It hurts. To check my phone and see no missed call or text - no update or brightening of my day at all.

That even 9 weeks to the day I still expect it might happen.

It hurts. To leave work every single day, reminded that routine call will never happen.
I just want to talk to you.
It hurts. Whether I eat or don't eat, my digestive system just isn't the same. Unbalanced.
It hurts. To have 2 pups - your little girl and our big guy - to care for. All by myself.
It hurts. Lying in bed staring at a wall with just my thoughts. For hours.

It just hurts. Not having you.

Lights and Sirens

People pay attention to the lights and sirens of emergency vehicles for many different reasons:

For some, there is a natural curiosity of what might be going on;

For others, they feel the urgency to make way and respect the first responders;

I loved trying to catch a glimpse of the unit in the hope that I could see my Sweetheart.

If I knew there was potential for it to be his truck in the area, I'd move to the side and then try my hardest to see  the unit markings and try to see him up front. It didn't happen much, but sometimes it did. Sometimes I was already on my way to see him - I'd give a "I know you've got to go, baby" wave as we passed in opposite directions. When I'd tell him later that we crossed, he never noticed - he was in work mode anyways. But I knew. I got the chance to see him in his element.

I usually continued on to the station and waited in the hope that I could still catch him after a cancel or on a quick turn-around. Sometimes I'd get started on the dinner that I was planning to make; it all depended on the station. Some you had to show up with food hot and ready and hope that there was enough of a lull to chat while you finished it; others you had pretty good odds that you could stay a while and maybe even prep there.

If meals plans had to be canceled, I'd prep a plate for him or leave the leftovers somewhere he could grab quickly, scratching a quick "I love you. Be Safe." on a note or piece of computer paper.

I turn away now when that reminder is present. I don't want to look, I don't want to wonder. There is nobody that I could catch a glimpse of any longer that will make my heart pause and bring a smile to my face. The sirens are now an approaching flashback to what is just memories and the lights a bright burning reminder of love lost.

I wish they could be removed entirely.