Blah …

I almost didn’t care enough to write this.

I almost said “Screw it. I’m tired of writing out my goddamn feelings. Why am I doing this anyway? What’s the point?”

I’m sick of myself. I’m tired of being sad. Tired of pretending that I’m not sad. Tired of the constant explaining to people who will never understand. Tired of everyone misinterpreting my feelings and emotions. Tired of having emotions. Tired of feeling like I’m a failure at grief. Like I missed all those extensive classes on Widow Etiquette. I took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in FuckYou-Ville. Oops.

Something has happened inside of me. It started slowly, right around the one-year mark of his death. About two months ago.

The lights went out.

My eyes shut off. My heart shut down. My brain is fried. My legs don’t work right. I feel so heavy. The 12 months of sleepless nights has finally caught up with me. My skin is dry. My nails are weak. I’m on the edge of a cliff and I don’t have the energy or motivation to move. There’s a mac truck coming straight for me and I just stand there. Frozen. If it runs me over, that’s cool. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too. The wheels and the weight of a truck crushing my body can’t possibly hurt as much as the pain of losing my husband.

Nothing can hurt as much as the pain of losing my husband.

Pain. I have felt so much of it, that I no longer feel it. Go ahead. Hit me in the head with a hammer. I might not notice. Take my dreams and smash them into pieces. Whatever. Insult me on the deepest and most personal level. You can’t hurt me. I’m already dead.

I don’t mean to be overdramatic. But it’s the truth. I am gone. The person that used to occupy this body is not here anymore. Everything that I am is different. Everything I feel is different. My insides have been scooped out, and now it’s just hollow. Like a tin can. You can almost hear the emptiness in the echo. Time to rebuild, but I’m much too tired. Fuck it.

There are some things you can never forget. There are some moments that stay inside you forever. There is no turning back from where I am now. Once you have seen your own husband lying in a casket – you are no longer the same. Once you have experienced the very real and terrifying knowledge that anyone can be taken from you at any time with no warning – you live your life differently. You just do.

My anchor is gone. My best friend. The person that I turned to in times like this, when I feel lost beyond measure. He isn’t here. And neither am I.

I’m tired. I’m numb. I’m Blah.

My birthday that passed last week? The old me walked around reminding anyone who would listen that it was my “birthday month.” The old me loved cake and wishes and birthday date nights with my husband, and romantic cards from him and the kitty cats. The new me let the day pass by like any other day. Friends tried to make it special for me with dinners and cupcakes and packages in the mail. So appreciated. My face tried to smile but my heart felt blah.

The 90 minutes of non-moving traffic I was in last week en route to a grief support group, that made me over an hour late? Old me would be cursing and sweating and panicking and pissed. New me doesn’t care much. There are worse things in life to get pissed at. Traffic is not one of them.

The gorgeous sunset from my new bedroom window? Not the same without my husband to share it with. The Yankees coming back to dramatically tie it up in the bottom of the 9th, and then win it in the 12th, on the second to last game of the season? Yeah. It sucks cheering alone. The apple cider beer we used to both love drinking together every fall? Not as great as I remember it.

Everything just feels blah. Good things. Bad things. All of it. Blah.

I remember happy. I recall joy. I just don’t feel it. I know that I will crawl through life and that I will eventually be “okay.” I’ll get by. There will be laughter and friends and family and maybe even dreams realized.

It’s just impossible to imagine that any of that could ever really mean anything when I don’t have my partner to share it with. To live life with. To stand in the rain with and drink lemonade and play a game of catch in central park with. To grow old with. To get sick with. To pay bills with and fight with and hear incredible music with and watch our niece and nephew grow up with. To go to weddings and funerals with, and to dance with, and cry with, and to vote in the next election with. To split a pizza with. To retire with. To have a family with. To celebrate anniversaries with. To face the future with. To face the fear of death with. To die with.

All things in life, whether awful or lovely, should be shared with that person you chose to love forever.

When forever is taken away, and you’re forced to continue breathing, all you are really left with is blah.

I’m all out of screaming. I’m fresh out of pissed. The only thing I have in stock is BLAH.

Blah. Pounds and pounds of blah. I’m drowning in the stuff, and if I had more life in me, I’d pick my ass up and get the hell out of the ocean. But I can’t be bothered. Not right now.

Go ahead and walk on by. I’ll be here on my raft of blah. Floating.

 

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9 thoughts on “Blah …

  1. It will be 3 years for me 12/19. I wish we could hang together and be blah. I am gratetful that you can put our crappy lives down in words. I dont even care enough to do that. luv ya (((hugs)))

  2. I wish I could spend some time with you, sitting silent in a blah world even. Not having to feign happiness is sometimes quite valuable.

  3. Everything you write is exactly what I feel. I have told people I will never be any more “better” than I am now. I exist. Simply put, I exist. That is not to say I will never feel any differently, but for now, that is all I can muster up. And it has been hard to do that sometimes. How simple to simply put the hose in the exhaust and car and go to sleep….me and my dogs so I don’t have to worry about anyone taking care of them. But I am a chickenshit. I talk the talk but I don’t walk the walk. Some would say, then end it if thats what you want to do. People aren’t going to want to be around you if all you talk about is sad stuff. That is not what I do. Only when pressed do I even talk about how I feel. Most people don’t ask. I don’t cry as much, am actually able to get through talking about Mike sometimes without crying. Is it time? 41 months and counting. Some of the widows I correspond with are so anxious to meet someone again, as if this is the magic answer to this depression and sadness. Maybe it is, but I can’t picture myself with anyone other than Mike. 30 years of him in my life…20 married. How do you wipe that away? I can’t. Maybe I don’t want to. I wish I had an answer for you. But I DO feel every emotion you wrote down. Nothing seems worth it since he died. I know I have things to be thankful for…but without him, they are meaningless. Everyone’s grief is different….some people actually do find happiness again, and in a lot less than 41 months. I don’t think less of them for finding someone else. I wish I knew the secret of looking for happiness again…not just as easy as “doing the grief work”…..volunteer, get out of the house more…..so, I should hit the bars? I am 59 years old, I am over that. I am fat. Of course, some people lovingly try to tell me I “would feel better” if I lost some weight. What they mean is no one is ever going to want to be with me if I am fat….well, too fucking bad. Well, I’ve rambled on long enough. It is so good to know I am not alone in this, altho, to be fair, you aren’t as far out as me in months, so there is time for you yet. No, no one said life is fair, but I didn’t fucking ask them, either. Yes, been to a psych….”complicated grief”…no shit? I am on antidepressents…they only help to the extent you are willing to get out of the house and do things….I don’t know the answer, and wish I could tell you it will get better. It just hasn’t for me yet, either. ((HUGS))

  4. I know it doesn’t help, but there are many of us who feel exactly as you do. Some days that helps me climb a little out of my grief, most days not. I scream inside my head telling everyone silently that I died the day my husband did and I’m just waiting for my body to catch up. I can’t tell them that out loud, they can’t handle the depth of our grief. Thank you for writing this even though you didn’t want to.

  5. “Pain. I have felt so much of it, that I no longer feel it. Go ahead. Hit me in the head with a hammer. I might not notice. Take my dreams and smash them into pieces. Whatever. Insult me on the deepest and most personal level. You can’t hurt me. I’m already dead.”
    I’m feeling like this too…

  6. You Said Everything I want to say, My Life is nothing, just an Empty hole in me, I thought things would get better as the months passed but it’s worse, My Husband in Feb, My Mom in June, My Aunt 3 days after Mom and Today My Sister in law, Just Shoot me.

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