Traveling the dark, cold roads

Day 164: 08/12/13 Entry

After my storm of emotions last night, I woke up today with a heavy heart, a headache, and swollen, baggy eyes. I’m not in a good place; it feels like I’m back in the early weeks: I had no energy, no will, and didn’t see any point or reason to get out of bed, so I spent most of the day there, staring at the TV with tears in my eyes. It’s been a long time since I have done this. I thought that I had made some progress…nope, it appears not. Or maybe I have made progress, but this grief just has a unique ability to yank me back to the early days whenever it wants to.

While talking to my friend Mick about this today, I made a comment on how it’s rainy and gloomy outside, and how that reflects my mental state pretty well. He mentioned that I used to love the rain. That’s the key word, isn’t it? “Used to”? I used to do and be a lot of things I no longer have any interest in. Brandon’s death ripped me to pieces, and while I’m trying to pick them up, put them back where they used to be, some of the pieces will never quite fit again. I no longer find simple pleasure in rainy days…they only make me sadder and more alone, because inside of my heart and soul, it always seems to be raining and storming, and actually seeing it just reminds me of the fact that my Brandon is dead and gone. He and I used to spend rainy days together watching stuff on TV or with me sitting on his lap and looking at random funny or educational things on the internet. Now rainy days just reflect how I feel inside, all the time.

I think it’s cruel and unfair that I don’t dream of him. Not for months. I only had two dreams with him in them in the past 6 months, and they both happened within the first month of his death. Since then, nothing, nothing at all. I wish so desperately I could at least see him in my dreams; it makes me angry that my mind won’t let me. The two dreams I did have I remember as vividly as if they are actual memories…and they were not good ones. They were violent, heart wrenching, and cruel. It boils down to the fact that he’s completely gone from my life; I can’t even see him in my dreams. That’s so unfair and malicious; it’s adding insult to injury.

I miss coming home at the end of the day to his hugs, kisses, and smiles. Now I come home to the cats, and while I adore them, it’s not the same. Unless I turn on the TV, everything is silent; no one talks. I certainly don’t have any reason to talk (unless I completely lose it and start talking to myself, in which case, this last statement becomes invalid). It’s so damn lonely. I miss knowing that someone cares about how my day went, whether good or bad. I miss having someone to call on the walk to the car after work. I miss the certainty of knowing no matter where I am or what I’m doing, somewhere, there is one person who loves me fully and deeply. I feel so alone now. This is a big world, and I suddenly feel completely alone in it.

I don’t know if it’s worth the effort to try and find that again; I mean, why? So they can potentially die eventually? To my own surprise, I feel like Computer Guy and I have the potential for something great, if given the chance, because the level of connection I feel with him. And that scares me. That terrifies me. But, it doesn’t matter…he is dealing with his own demons and I have no idea where we stand.

My new motto is one day at a time. My eyes have been opened to the fact that everyone dies, randomly, without warning. There are diseases, heart attacks, car accidents, brain aneurysms, suicides. I have talked to so many widows online whose husbands/fiancés/boyfriends died in these random occurrences. The world is not a safe place; as the saying goes, no one makes it out alive anyway. Having experienced this particular twisting of the knife in the heart, I’m not sure I would be able to survive it again; hell, I’m not even sure I’m going to survive this – jury is still out on that.

There are moments, and I had one of them last night, when that gun in the drawer starts to look mighty friendly and appealing. Would it not be poetic if I went out of this world in the same manner as my Brandon? I think so. I’ve never given much thought to an afterlife, but even that doesn’t matter; it’s not about whether or not I’ll be reunited with him again…it’s just during those rare moments, the pain is so unbearable and the future seems so dark, uncertain, and pointless, that not having to deal with any of it just seems alluring and tempting.

God, never did I think that this was even in the realm of possibilities in my life. I used to try to imagine the worst thing that could ever happen with Brandon and I, and somehow, death was never present on that list. Why did it never occur to me that Brandon could suddenly die and disappear from my life? Are people that deeply dug into denial and ignorance about death? Hell, I suppose I was.

Now, however, I see it everywhere. I never saw or paid much attention to it before; sure, I saw and heard things on the news about tragic car crashes, plane crashes, sudden heart attacks, gun violence. I just lacked the particular awareness towards death that is only glimpsed when it personally touches you on the shoulder with its cold, bony, stiff hand. Once it touches you, your eyes open perhaps for the first time and see a whole new world; a world people untouched by death never notice. Life is so fragile, so weak, and so short. Death is around every corner. Every single day that you get up out of bed, could be your last. And no one thinks of it that way, no one. I certainly never did. I do now.

The interesting and perhaps unexpected part, however, is this new awareness really doesn’t make me afraid. I’m just not afraid of death anymore, perhaps because staying alive has become such a heavy burden, such a difficult and painful task, that the idea of death seems almost…welcoming; a relief.

I know, I sound like a crazy person. But these are the dark, cold roads my mind now travels sometimes.

 

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