This past week has been a whirlwind. Between panic attacks and pain management, there was no lack of interest before, but we found
I’m still alive, although on most days I wish that were negotiable. There isn’t a single day that goes by that at some point I just wish I could join Seth, but I suppose that’s an improvement over feeling like that all day every day. It’s hard to see the blessings, even though deep down I know they are there, when every day is filled with sad firsts and never agains. I’m not sure yet which is worse, the sadness, or when something happy happens that I wish I could tell him about and then remember that I can’t. I mean, I can, obviously, but since he can’t answer me, so it makes the point rather moot.
I do talk to him though. Every day. All the time.
I don’t know when this feeling will transition into something less awful, but I wish I could fast forward to that.
Staying busy is key. I’m redecorating the house, still keeping up with Bar and scheduling trips, but nights are hard, especially right before bed.
All I try and do is remember how strong Seth was and I try to borrow what I can of it to get through one day and to the next. Rinse. Repeat. It’s exhausting.
The most exhausting thing is eating. When I was younger, my parents were pretty much the deciders of what I ate and when, because that’s just kind of how childhood works. I moved out and a few months later I met Seth, and he loved all of that. Like, weirdly and genuinely loved the grocery store and not so weirdly, but still genuinely loved cooking. So he took almost total charge in that area and it occured to me that I’ve never really been responsible for feeding myself. How does one make it to 36 and not know how to feed oneself regularly? I often just outright forget and when I remember it’s mostly with disdain. I really hate grocery shopping, and I’m not the biggest fan of cooking and if I manage to do all of those things, I’m not usually interested in what I’ve prepared enough to actually eat it. I mean, I can bake….but I can’t consist on cake, right? Not and still fit into my Lululemon leggings…so the answer to that is no. I feel like at some point I knew what to do, I mean I took care of Seth for months, and that involved lots of cooking (even though he had to teach me how to make scrambled eggs), but it was all for him. Not really for me.
The thing I hate and I’m trying to get over is the numbness I feel at someone else’s happy news. So many of my friend’s are getting married and having babies and doing amazingly happy big moment stuff and I just feel so blah about it. I know it’s not fair…but then it’s also not fair that all of my dreams were stripped away from me and that the world is still going on like that didn’t happen.
It’s fucking hard, man.
I can’t wait to feel genuine happiness again. Like, completely untainted total happiness. I wonder if that will ever exist for me. I can’t fathom it at the moment.
In the meantime, I’m working toward things. Seth and I had planned to go to New Zealand for our 10 year anniversary, which is in a few months. I’m trying to find a way to still make it happen. It might not be in September, but it will be soon. I have more trips to Philly planned and I’m going to Vegas for work next week and I have things to try and look forward to. I got my tattoos and I’m looking for a piece of anniversary wedding jewelry and I’m taking steps to find peace.
Trying to move forward is difficult, but I am trying.