A Random Musing…6 Months In

He died February 5/20; and I sit here, 6 months later, taking stock of where I am — emotionally, mentally, physically.

Nothing is better for weight loss than….loss. Healthy? Probably not so much. But definitely thinner. I really don’t recommend the “death diet”. Tums are my new favourite appetizer.

Sleep is still a struggle. New mattress notwithstanding, my bed is very…empty. The body pillow is not a good replacement for a warm body to cuddle with and the herd has no idea how to deal with my too frequent nightmares. The weighted blanket, meant to sooth and comfort, had me waking up in a panic thinking I couldn’t move. I donated it. I also still sleep only on the left side. Should have bought a twin bed.

I function. Work is still my mental escape. Denial, denial, denial…more than a river. I’m fine. I’m totally fucked. It varies, day by day. I ride the ups and downs of not knowing what to do, how to settle my mind, how to move forward. How to live. How to care. How to stay present and not fade back to invisible.

I really didn’t think I could be any more broken, yet I am. I’m so angry. I’m so sad. I’m so abandoned. I’m so afraid. Everything I feel is so…overwhelmingly big. I’m not good with big feelings. I haven’t learned how to cope with them and I’m finding it almost impossible to tuck them away, as I’ve always been able to do before. As someone who doesn’t cry, I cry…far too much and far too easily for my liking.

I’m trying to learn to accept support and care, yet I somehow feel selfish and guilty for doing so. Why can’t I fix this myself? Why do I need? How do I deal with my self imposed quid pro quos? What can or do I offer in return?

I recognize that I’m falling back into pushing people away. I’m not able to not do that, at this moment, but I do recognize that it’s happening. Hopefully, those being pushed will understand and forgive.

I know there’s a life lesson in all this angst, just waiting for me to see, acknowledge and live it. I really am searching for it, but will admit to an overall unhealthy resistance to the concept. I’m very tired of lessons that hurt.

There are some definite progressions to becoming well and healthy. Not huge steps by any measure, but little things that are there…I can now say he died, versus spitting out that he was killed. I’ve chosen kindness over vengeance. I get up, everyday, and try to find even a small bright space in my head and my heart. I try to believe that someone could care and that I matter. I have my music and my words to help me heal.

So, 6 months in…I’m still working it all out. And learning to be whoever I now am becoming.