I have the day off today. I slept until close to noon (I think the new sleeping pills are a tad stronger than the old ones). I woke up a lot, still, during the night and morning, usually from nightmares, but each time I woke up, I felt such a strong hatred towards this new reality, so I burrowed under the blanket and made myself go back to sleep each time. I used to love waking up on my days off, because I knew Brandon would be home from work soon, and we could spend the rest of the day together. Now, I just wish I could go to sleep and never wake up again to this cold and lonely new life.
So after finally getting out of bed at noon, I fed the cats, made coffee. I sat on the couch for a bit, then I just started to feel so exhausted, drained, and so so tired; I crawled back into bed. It is now 7:30pm, the day is pretty much over, and I have yet to get up out of bed. I’ve just been laying here, watching Netflix, hurting, and crying.
Today has been a hell of an exciting day off. I can’t wait to go back to work tomorrow.
The problem is this is pretty much how I’ve spent every day off for the past month. The apartment is a complete disaster, because I haven’t cleaned anything for over 6 weeks. When the cats knock something over, I just don’t have the energy or will to pick it up or straighten. So you get the idea of what a disaster this place has become.
I know I have to do a lot of things, like laundry, dishes, basic maintenance and cleaning. I think about doing all these things. But then all I can manage to do when I have free time is lay on the couch or bed all day. Thank God I can pay all of the bills online, because I fear if that wasn’t an option, I probably wouldn’t have the energy to go out and do it.
I’ve never been so lazy before. I just don’t want to do anything. All I can manage is get up and go to work, then come home and lay down. Is this what my “new” life is going to be like? I miss my Brandon…I want THAT life back. It still feels like a sick joke.
I’m so sad…just sad. Nothing makes me happy, not the pretty weather outside, the sound of birds singing, the flowers blooming, seeing little kids smile; none of these things are even a blip on the old happy-meter. I’m empty. I feel like a zombie that goes to work, smiles, makes idle conversation sometimes, then comes home and crawls into bed, into the darkness that is now home.
I don’t let myself think about Brandon’s death, about finding him, about everything that I lost that night. When I think about these things, it feels like this huge wave of grief and pain is rising up, up, up – higher and higher, roaring, soaring above my head, casting its ugly shadow over me. The bad and agonizing moments I’ve had so far, in the past 47 days, have only been tiny droplets from this wave that looms over me. Tiny little droplets. I’m terrified of feeling the full wave crash over me, because I’m not sure I can survive its cold and cruel waters, so I don’t let myself think about Brandon’s death, about finding him, about everything that I lost that night. Whenever these thoughts creep up, I push them away.
Thinking about a life without Brandon, a life I am now forced to live, gives me such a hopeless, helpless, frightened feeling. I’m still waiting to wake up from this nightmare. I have to wake up. Why can’t I wake up?