Monday, May 11, 2015

The last three months. Sort of.

I've taken quite a long break from writing. Not because I haven't had anything to write about, but because all I seem to have to write about is shit. I get tired of not having any joy to post. I get tired of reliving the things that cause pain. Before starting this I just re-read through some of my last posts and there is a very clear theme that's been hanging over me like a dark cloud. Death and being forgotten. This most definitely isn't the theme of my choosing, and yet, here it is, in black and white. I have such a fucking headache right now. Between the heat, the pollen, and tears I would love nothing more than to go to bed for a week. But I can't. So I'll write, once again, in an attempt to make sense of everything that just doesn't make sense to me.

Since my last blog entry I've had many relationship ups and downs, went back on daily anxiety meds in an attempt to lower my blood pressure (seems to be working okay) and, well, reduce the ridiculous amount of daily anxiety I live with. I had a major panic attack, which spawned a sort of "coming out" FB post about the realities of living with anxiety. From that post I made several new contacts and online relationships with people that I wouldn't have thought dealt with the same issues as me. It also helped to get reunited with an old friend. We'd been talking for six years on social media.  In fact six years ago our lives were so much alike it almost seemed like were destined to become close friends. Over the past six years our lives continued on paths that were also very much a mirror image of the others. "OMG...are we twins?" Is what she would always say. We talked periodically and always said the famous "We have to get together sometime." But sometime never seemed to come. It was never the right time. Our lives played a roll in this. Our anxiety played a roll in this as well. After my post, however, we wrote back and forth almost all night and decided not to just say it anymore...we needed to get together and talk. And finally we did, back in February. We talked for hours about everything. Our lives, our children, our relationships, our anxiety, our fear of death, our need to have order and plans to feel calm and safe. We joked about reloading the dishwasher and how much anxiety we feel in the middle of a mess. We talked about how very few people understand and how one of the most important thing people like us need is for someone to understand. We talked about how we only lived 5 minutes from each other and if either of us needed help or support that we would call the other any time, day or night. And we also joked about not waiting another six years to get together again. It was a really good night. I don't have very many people in my circle.  People who know this hard, dark side of me and actually understand it and have felt it themselves. After that night I knew I had just added one more person to my circle. One more friend who would understand the challenges of daily life and why things for other people that seem so easy, are not easy for us. I felt so good walking away from that conversation. I think she did too.

We talked a few more times but never got the chance to get together again.  On April 22nd she passed away. To say that this crushed me, is an understatement. It sent me into a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that are just now starting to slow down.  I felt the loss for her daughters, her boyfriend, her family and friends. I felt my own loss, as it was too soon. We had just started and we were going to help each other. And then I felt the loss for her. The loss of her life, I thought about how we had talked about death and how that was one of the main causes of anxiety in both of our lives. I thought about how she could have died. There still hasn't been any confirmed information but the last thing she looked up on her phone was symptoms of a heart attack in woman. I've thought things like...did she think she was just having a panic attack? Is that why she didn't wake anyone up? Was she afraid of being dismissed. And if she did think that at first, why didn't she call? I've thought a million what the hell went wrong here? This shouldn't have happened. Did she just not want to bother anyone? And then I felt guilt.  A tremendous amount of guilt, for still being alive. I'm not sure if that even makes sense, but in my mind back in Feb there were two blonde women sitting and talking over dinner and drinks. Both with similar lives, both with similar issues. Both with so much in common.  Who got to decide which one of those blonde women had to die? During this whole processing period I've even thought the opposite. That maybe it wasn't that she "had" to die. Maybe she "got" to die. Maybe it was time for her struggle to end. God, I hope her struggle has ended. I'm not religious and hardly spiritual, I've always been the kind of person who needs facts and proof. The mystery of death is hard for me to place in a nice neat casket. I just don't know and I can't have a true belief if I just don't know, I can only hope.

In any case, it's been an internally rough few weeks. There has been more death in my life over the past year than ever before. People I care about. It's felt like the more I fear it, the more it keeps happening. I've been able to talk with a few people about this and it has helped somewhat. We all feel this loss on a very deep level, I think.

Yesterday was Mother's Day I couldn't help but think of Laura all day. I thought of her girls. I thought of her mother. I thought of everyone just wishing for one more chance. For one more day. I spent most of the day alone as Rick was working and Jack was with Jason. The day before we had taken his mother out to breakfast, so I decided to do something for me, which I very rarely do. Normally I would spend the day working, but this year I said fuck it and went shopping. It was actually a pretty nice day alone except I waited all day long for someone close to me to wish me a Happy Mother's Day. Someone I live with. Someone I gave birth to. Someone I made a child with. The only person to send me a personal message in the morning was a friend who I don't think has missed a mothers day wish since I first got separated from Jack's father. It was nice and yet it made me cry. It made me cry because when I heard the text come through, I knew it would be him. I knew it wouldn't be from any of the people that I wished it would be from. It's hard and it's so confusing to me. I feel like I'm doing something so wrong that everyone else deserves the words, but not me. I can't even begin to describe how much it hurts to know your ex (who is supposed to be guideing your son) just completely blew you off and your boyfriend who wished his mother and ex wife a Happy Mothers Day, couldn't say the words to you. All day I waited. If there is a lesson here I don't know what it is.  Life is short, I guess. It can end at anytime.  That is a lesson that I think maybe everyone else needs to learn.  I know it well. Maybe the lesson I need to learn is to stop waiting.

Hope, who in the end decided to take the wishes, lunch and friendship that were sent my way and enjoy the day as best I could.  You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you need.