I’m struggling to write lately. A combination of things I think. During the week, I just slog along getting through day to day, moment by moment. Tackling each day as it comes along and basically just trying to make sure the kids get where they need to be and get attention from me. Levi is at a really hard age this summer where he is bored all day at home, but also not able to drive himself anywhere so I try to give him extra attention in the evenings.
I also just feel like I don’t have anything to say…except “Hey there. It’s Marie again. Life still sucks.”
Last week I went to a tennis drill for the first time since Jason died. I had done a few private lessons, and I was fine with those. The drill hit me in a whole different, unexpected way. I think it was too much like playing a match and suddenly I had this whole loop going through my head of how unfair it is that I am still here doing “Jason’s thing” and he isn’t. I managed to breathe myself out of ugly crying and a panic attack and finish the drill…but it hit me hard…and I still get teary thinking about it. Jason hated it when I stopped playing tennis “because of him” so I’ll keep going…and hopefully it will get easier.
Panic attacks seem to be my new MO…and they suck.
I was talking to somebody this week about how a person can do anything hard when they know there’s an end….especially if there is a desirable outcome. A hard workout. Childbirth. A sucky day at work. For the 15 months that Jason had cancer the hard just kept harder as his condition deteriorated and more and more of him was taken away…with the only possible end being death. And now for the past almost 11 months it’s been another whole new hard that keeps getting harder…with no desirable outcome really…no end in sight. Cue the panic attacks.
I’m struggling along. Just doing the next thing that needs to be done. Tons of things just falling through the cracks while I try to keep myself together. My rose-colored glasses have been shattered. My positive outlook on life nowhere to be seen. I’m constantly on edge waiting for the next shoe to drop…the next thing to break…the next thing I need to deal with…the next disappointment… Again…cue the panic attacks.
I feel like my world has drastically shrunk…my community dwindled…because I just can’t feel connection with people anymore and I don’t have the energy to try most of the time. I am just tapped out. Most social situations give me anxiety. I feel like I make people uncomfortable because they don’t know what to say to me and I don’t know what “normal” conversation is anymore. I can’t focus and find myself staring into space…probably counting down the minutes until I can leave….or have another drink. Too much self-medication. I know. Can’t bring myself to really care. Don’t judge my bandaids.
My whole being is one big ball of lonely hurt and sadness….and the only person that could give me hope that I can make it and be okay somehow is gone. Cruel irony of grieving a spouse I guess. I miss him so bad that “miss” doesn’t even seem like the right word anymore.