Detached

04/14/2013 Entry

I can’t remember what he looks like most of the time. I can’t remember our life, our memories. It’s like my brain is completely shielding me from anything relating to Brandon and my life with him. I can function, almost too well, out in the world. I go to work, I talk to people, I take care of the cats, I go places sometimes with friends (tonight I went to a hockey game; our team won the championship, too), I go to the therapist, I go to the doctor who gives me anti-depressants, I take said anti-depressants, I make myself eat, I shower, I get dressed, I put on matching socks. I do all of that and more, day after day…I wake up and I do whatever needs doing that day.

To the outside world, I’m more or less “okay” and “keeping it together”. The funny thing is, I’m not. Just tonight, I was sitting here on the couch, reading things on the computer, and tears just started streaming down my face. No warning, no trigger to cause it. Tears just started streaming down my face. Earlier today, I was lying down and watching TV, the same thing happened: for no reason, tears streamed down my face like little rivers. I wasn’t thinking about anything, I wasn’t doing anything that would surface a memory…I was just doing what I do every day, existing, and these tears came so quietly.

To the world, it seems like I’m okay. To me, there is a general feeling of something being terribly wrong within my life; it’s a dark heavy cloud that hugs me tightly no matter where I am. As I said earlier, it is very hard for me to remember of think of anything relating to Brandon, yet this dark, looming, overall feeling remains. This cloud follows me; it’s my companion when I wake up, when I go to work, when I do anything. There is such a deep sadness within me, it’s bottomless. I don’t remember what it feels like to be happy, to smile and actually mean it, to laugh at something funny and have it reach the depths of my soul. I just exist, with barely any memories of my sweet Brandon and our life together; I exist, day after day, sometimes not understanding WHY this deep sadness is within me.

It still feels like I’m detached; like I’m standing in a corner and watching this happen to someone else. I feel like an observer. “Hmm, that’s interesting, I wonder why she is just lying on the couch for the entire day, looking at nothing in particular, breathing, breathing, but not really breathing” I sometimes think. Or “It’s interesting how she has to look at pictures to remember what her husband looks like, and then she sits there and sobs and wails”. It feels like this is happening to someone else, like I’m watching this story through a window. Isn’t that interesting?

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