I feel so far away from Brandon, from the girl I was then, from that life I used to have.
I don’t know how else to phrase it: it feels like who I am now and who I used to be before Brandon’s death are standing on two different cliffs, and the chasm between them keeps growing with each passing day.
I was watching Grey’s Anatomy this morning, and something they said stuck with me. The patient was an old veteran who had a bullet stuck in his back for decades, a left over reminder of the war. He suspected that it was friendly fire, that one of his people shot him in the back. The doctor told him to let it go and move on with life, but the patient said something along the lines of, “You don’t understand. You won’t understand until something happens to you that changes your soul.”
I think Brandon’s death changed my soul. In many ways, I’ve become a better person than who I used to be. I’m more empathetic, I understand that life is short and any day can be your last day, so I’m more alive, I love more, I take more chances, chances I wouldn’t have taken two years ago.
Also, in many ways, I’m worse. I’ve become this scared, anxious, glass is half empty person who doesn’t trust anything good to last, who is always expecting the worst to happen. I used to say that since Brandon’s death, it didn’t matter what else life threw at me, that the worst already happened and I’d be able to deal with anything else. But I was wrong. While the worst did happen, I feel like I’ve become paper thin. Things hurt me easier. I’m quick to jump to the worst conclusion. I don’t handle stress as well as I used to.