Year Two Blues

     

This is going to be in stark contrast to my last post. Remember when I said I was feeling good again? Feeling normal. That was fun while it lasted. This new mood I can’t seem to shake and it's wearing me out. Replace hopeful with hopelessness. The burn of life without him is ever-present and powerful. The joys of widowhood. Up and down, and round and round we go. I went to my doctor recently and I told her I had gained 10 lbs and was depressed. She said ‘yeah you and the rest of the world.’ The collective of the world right now is dim. The vibe is off. I'm feeling it on top of my own problems. I should go to therapy more. I should read more. I should exercise more. I should eat better. I should appreciate all the blessings I have standing right in front of me. But instead, I want to do nothing. And then I feel guilty for doing nothing. The intense sadness has faded and I'm left numb. My bed is my only safe space. I remember my friend who had lost her mother, and a few other widows telling me how much worse the second year was for them. The shock fades and you are left trying to piece your life back together while still stumbling over the pain. I have a wonderful man. One who is more understanding and loving than anything I ever thought I deserved. I have a growing business. I have exciting things happening to my loved ones. The sadness isn't drowning these things out anymore but now it's like I can't reach that happy spot. I'm stuck somewhere in the middle. It burns bright for just a moment and I get real high on it, remembering when life felt that way all the time. Then it's gone. Does the trauma do this to me? The fear? The hardening? Will I ever be the same? I've always been a cheerleader. Pushing people to stay positive and optimistic. I was not prepared for this emotional shift. I don't care much about anything lately. Sweeping negativity about everything in life. Nothing and no one is immune. I have noticed I don't think about the trauma as much. The details. Instead, I think about the tragedy of the larger picture. The fact that life can be so cruel and heartbreaking. Our whole life was hoping. Hoping we would land that job that would make us enough money. Hoping we would make friends to have fun with. Hoping we would love each other hard enough to stay happy. People die, plans die, hopes and dreams die, loves die. What is the point of trying to be happy if there is something constantly lurking waiting to tear it down? Murder, cancer, pandemic, stress. It's too much. Right now, it's too much. My only saving grace is knowing it's temporary. Just like the crippling sadness. It is all part of this journey.

It has taken me over a month to realize what I was feeling, why I was feeling it, and how it is connected to my grief. When I can get to a place of understanding I finally feel less overwhelmed. It is the first step to my recovery phase. To getting back to the me I like. As you grow up you realize the burden “being happy” puts on your life. You don’t feel good all the time. Even when you feel like you have everything. It has to be a state of mind, not a checklist of what is going wrong and right at any given moment. Because guess what? Lots of things are going to go wrong. A constant effort to turn the hopeless back to the hopeful and the negative to the positive. Sometimes that effort is minimal while other times it's monumental. I'm on a good path. I have made progress even though some days (or months) it doesn't feel that way. I have so many people cheering me on. I'm going to get there. I have to keep climbing. 

Remember, whether you have been through my trauma, your own, or none at all, everyone feels this way sometimes. It is okay. It will not last forever. My counselor tells me 'feelings are not facts'. They might be indicators but they are not truths. Just because I feel hopeless at this moment does not mean my life is hopeless. Who knows we may wake up tomorrow and all will be right in the world. Just keep going!