January 3rd... It's only January 3rd. The last few days have basically been the most draining days I've had. I literally thought it was July. I'm ready for July. I'm ready for 2021. 2020 sucks. It already feels like the WORST year of my life. Yes, I think 2019 was better than this year will be. At least I had my wife for 6 months of 2019. 2020 just means reality.
Before my therapy appointment this morning, I did a self check in...
Mentally, exhausted.
Physically, drained.
Emotionally... emotional, exhausted, drained.
Spiritually, trying to find the signs.
Check in complete, no need to talk about the things i'm already drained about for the next hour.
But, that's not how this process works. You have to keep moving forward. So, into therapy I went.
My mind constantly reels a million miles a minute. If i'm awake 14 hours a day, at least 11 of those hours are spent reeling, having conversations with myself. Reliving past conversations with Court. Thinking of all the things I could have said or done differently. Taking in all of the "signs" that I should have known were signs. Reeling about the Friday, Saturday and Sunday before. Thinking where would we be now if I suggested we took a mental health day together that Monday. We both needed a day, she was looking forward to going to Rhode Island. "That sounds amazing, I need that" she told me Saturday when I suggested we go for the day Sunday. Reeling about the time she told me she didn't feel like she had ever experienced joy, that she wasn't sure if she could experience it. Trying to understand that statement. How scared she was about losing loved ones. How scared she was about losing me. PTSD, She had PTSD. Saturday night when that fan fell out of the bedroom window and she jumped out of bed in a panic and couldn't sleep the rest of the night, that was PTSD from when her dad died. When her mom tripped into a wall and the noise made court go into a panic attack, that was PTSD. How did I not know? The time she thanked me for her 30th birthday party because she never thought she would make it. Well, she made it but she will never see 31, 32 or 33. The time she asked me if I wanted that gun in our house. I did. I felt safe with it there. The time she said therapy was too expensive and the online counseling she wanted to do was even more. Why didn't I offer to pay? The last weeks when she wanted to find a new PCP, maybe she wanted meds? All the times she told me she wished she could compartmentalize like I could. It was because she just carried EVERYTHING in her heart, soul and body. She opened the door, waiting for a bite, waiting to be saved. I was blind. I was oblivious and I hate myself for that.
I know it's not my fault. I do, or at least part of me knows that. But, that's the process right? I'm ready to check all the stages of grief off my list. Anger, check. Denial, check. Guilt, check. Unfortunately grief doesn't have a to do list that you can just scratch off and move to the next. It's like being blindfolded on a roller coaster and as soon as you free fall down one drop there's a crazy turn or loop coming up. You never know what to expect. You can't see it, you can brace yourself for impact but, it doesn't come when you expect it. Then you settle, take a breath and BAM. Whiplash.
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