Running on empty

Do you know that saying 'running on the smell of an oily rag'? Maybe it's an Australian thing, but it's the best description I can think of to explain how I'm feeling today.  I'm exhausted and my tank is low. My 'refuel' light is flashing and I need to pull up and refuel.

So, I'm trying to lay low this weekend and as much as I want to pour my heart out here and write about this past week, the first anniversary of Dan's funeral and what it's been like to creep into my second year, I just don't have the energy to scrape it together. I'm sorry, I take my commitment to Widow's Voice very seriously and I promise I'll be back next week, pushing the limits of my word count.

In the mean time I thought I'd share an extract from my personal blog that still applies to how I feel today. Thank you for checking in and remember - it's ok to put your own needs first sometimes, in fact, it's essential. I know you guys get it. 

"Most days I don't really think about HOW my husband died anymore. The shock of his suicide has eased and now my pain is mainly focused around the loss of him, how much I miss him and my sadness for the life we should be living.

There are still days, however, where it creeps in to my mind or I find myself needed to share my story and as I get to 'that' bit... the uneasiness in my stomach grows again.

This morning I saw a health professional and as we discussed the stress I've been under due to my personal circumstances, it became relevant to explain the trauma around his death.

After all this time, I still stumble with the details and struggle to deliver it gracefully. 

It seems so inadequate to just say 'he took his own life'. 

He deserves more than this, he was so much more than 'just' a victim of suicide and I feel compelled to try and explain his actions. 

The most adequate explanation (short of spending a good 20 minutes going through what a brilliant, good-hearted, thoughtful, caring man he was) seems to be along the lines of: 'he had depression, we had no idea how badly... His symptoms were predominantly memory loss and inability to focus, so he became convinced he was developing dementia and, during a suspected psychotic episode, took his life to save us from having to care for him.'

But the truth is, this is merely the picture I ended up with from the prices of the puzzle that I could pull together. Pieces like: the beautiful, heart-felt note he left me; conversations we had about how scared he was by his symptoms, as well as those he had with his doctor; the assumption by police that his death was not planned or pre-meditated, but carried out in a state of detachment; and the undeniable fact that he adored me, and would never have wanted to willingly cause me this pain.

However I will never truly know what happened in his head that day. There will always be questions that creep in when I let my guard down. I will never fully understand the 'why's, no matter how much I try to help others understand and accept.

Maybe the best I can hope for is to find peace in knowing I will never know, and one day I won't need to ask the questions anymore."

Saying "NO" When We Need To

By nature I am a pretty optimistic and hopeful person. And usually when I write, it is to share some form of value or worth in this horrible journey. (My fiancé in fact even named me "the girl who pukes rainbows" when we first became friends, for my annoying ability to always find silver linings). But I don't want to paint any illusions here. I'm most definitely NOT that person all of the time. It takes a LOT of work to look for the positives some days, and there are many days when I just say NO. And today folks, is one of those days.

I had a dream last night that I found my fiancé dead in a swimming pool (Which is entirely unrelated to how he actually died - halfway across the country - in a helicopter crash). Then, a few days pass in the dream, I come to his body and try to shake him awake - almost violently, I shake him - and his eyes start to respond. And he starts to try and breathe…. taking deeper and deeper breaths until he begins to come to. And at this moment I dive into his arms, and he wraps them around me tight - making me feel so small and safe like he always did. I can feel his head against mine, his short military style haircut against my left temple. And I tell him in disbelief "But you were dead! Your body has been dead for three days! How are you here?!" He just wraps me up tighter in his arms.

And then. I wake up.

I'm sorry, but I'm just going to say what we're all thinking every time we wake up from THAT kind of dream….

WHAT THE FUCK??!?

I mean, come ON, what was the point of that?! What fresh new hell is this that my brain is now inventing entirely new and creative ways for my fiancé to die, and THEN allowing him to come back to life JUST before I wake up to reality. I'd like a dream interpreter to even just TRY to tell me there is meaning in that. To which I would likely punch her in the face the moment she tried to. Ugh.

I've been trying to hold myself together for the past few weeks - and I gotta say, this dream finally pushed me over the edge. I've had so many GOOD things happening. I sold several prints of my photos, got a lead on working with an agency that will potentially place my photos in hotels and hospitals and such all over the country. Got a lead on submitting my writing and photography to Huffington Post for their blog team (fingers crossed!). And the biggest thing of all…. I just landed my very first ever solo photography exhibit. Like, someone wants to showcase my work, in an entire show, all by itself. Holy crap - this is one of the most amazing and terrifying things that's happened to me since I went skydiving for the first time back in 2009.

But with so much happening all at once, I've been extra stressed, too. Photo shoots, meetings, phone calls, along with other freelance work I do. It's the most busy I have been since he died honestly - and the way that has drained me has totally taken me by surprise. I've been depleted this week to that magic point… the point where the one and only thing that could relax and restore me would be - yup - talking to him. Or a simple back rub and a movie on the couch together. How could one person have such an incredible calming effect on me? Somehow him saying to relax and that it will be okay made me believe in a way I never quite have before. That's pretty amazing. And pretty crappy to now be without.

So for the past few weeks, I've been trying my best to get through the stress and excitement and newfound fears without my go-to guy. I've been trying to focus on my photography and keep myself calm… all the while with the underlying feelings of "He's not HERE to share this with" lurking. And lurking. And lurking. And then the stupid dream slammed into me and shook up ALL that lurking pain. I lost it this morning on the phone with my best friend, and the poor thing had to hear me just explode everything out to her on the other end of the line:

"I hate this stupid journey!
I hate that for every exciting, happy, joyful thing that happens in my life… I have a crash afterwards.
I hate that I always know the crash is just around the corner, and that no amount of expecting it makes it any better.
I hate that I used to feel so organized and now I feel like a total scatterbrain, and there's nothing I can do about that because my brain is different now. And I hate that wonder if people think I'm making an excuse when I say that.
I hate that I cannot just have my old life back, where my happiness was not completely enmeshed in the complicated pain of grief.
I hate that my journey is MY journey now, and not OUR journey." I really, really hate that.

Even though there are moments where I do feel he is guiding me and that we are still in this journey together… it is NOT the same as telling him "OH MY GOD, BABE. I AM GOING TO HAVE MY OWN PHOTO SHOW!!!" and seeing the look on his face, having him grab me in his arms and hug me, and then going out to a nice dinner to celebrate it all… and knowing that he is so proud that he goes around and tells every single person in his life all about my show. Telling anyone else on the planet that information is NOT the same - because they aren't my team mate. They aren't part of the "we". And no matter how exciting and incredible it is that I will have a show…. no matter how overwhelmed I am that the curator loves my work and wants me to show it exactly as I want to, no matter how GOOD it feels to be doing something I have always always dreamed of since I was a little girl… in the very next moment the joy swings right around and stabs me with the sharp end of "he's not here for this". I am really, REALLY tired of being stabbed by the back end of my joy.

So thanks dream. And grief. For totally wreaking havoc on me pointlessly this past week… so I could lose my shit and feel completely ungrateful for all good in my life. I hate that part of the journey too - not being able to feel grateful for what I do still have. Especially because I know I do have a lot. But dammit, today I'm not grateful. Maybe tomorrow I will be, surely in a few days I will. But today, I'm just freaking sad and in pain and I'm just going to take a day off from trying to "make something" of this stupid journey. Some days you just have to say NO. So today, I'm sitting my ass down, crossing my arms, and I'm not taking another damn step forward until I feel like it. I'm betting someone else out there is having one of those days too. Maybe we'll say yes to trying tomorrow, but for today, if you need to say no, I am SO in your corner.

Snap and Bam

Ironically, a friend posted this right after my meltdown.

I had a meltdown. A bad one. I haven’t experienced that bad of a meltdown in probably a year.

It was getting ready to take a bubble bath, then BAM. It hit me. It hit me so hard I seriously thought I had been hit in the face.

My knees started buckling underneath me. The room was spinning. Panic set in. And the gut wrenching tears started. I crawled into bed and just cried. Cried so hard I was dry heaving and gasping for air.

I didn't see it coming. Nothing triggered it. It just came out of nowhere.

The melt down was so bad, it scared me.. not in a - I’m going to hurt myself way - , but is this the  breakdown where I finally snap and never recover? Will I end up in the hospital? Will I spend the rest of my days a hysterical mess?

The meltdowns scare me. Bad. I think it’s partly so terrifying because I have no control over it. Feeling like I have no control over what is going on inside me is terrifying.

As I was laying in bed hysterically crying, I kept telling myself “suck it up, you have been through worse, for hell sakes it’s been (almost) 3 years, quit being a whiny bitzch.”

Then it dawned on me. I am my own worst support system.

When a widow friend needs support, I drop everything and run to their aid. I never think “get over it, suck it up”. I listen, relate, make sure they are safe, and we all move on. But when I have a complete meltdown, I’m insanely hard on myself.

Why?

Honestly, I don’t know why. I guess I think I should be past the complete meltdown point. Past the point of where I lose all control. Hell, maybe I should even be over this by now.

I realized I need to treat myself the same way I treat my widow friends. With love and compassion, and not take a tough love approach.

I see now that the meltdown came from sheer exhaustion and the 3 year anniversary looming.

I also can see I need to be my own amazing support system, and I think it’s time to check myself back into my personal intensive care unit.

Cracked

I sometimes forget that I am not the same person that I was “before”.

I have over done it. Stretched myself to thin, and have crashed.

In my before life, I could handle a lot of stress, a lot of multi tasking, with little sleep and little frustration.

I no longer can do it.

I forget how much I have changed, and with that change, brings things I am not proud of.

For example, I have been extremely busy and stressed at work.

The old me would be able to work 10 hours a day, go home, cook, clean, go out with friends, sleep very little, and be able to manage just fine.

The new me, can only handle going to work right now.

I have nothing left to give to any other part of my life, other than work and sleep.

There are times through my grieving process that I think I am doing fine. I put too much on myself. Then bam! I crash. All my commitments and responsibilities crash at my feet, because I just can’t give any more energy away.

I don’t know what happened.

Actually, I know what happened - My husband died.

With that I changed. I am now extremely impatient. I can’t handle much stress or much responsibility. I have become selfish, in making sure I am ok before making someone else is ok.

The littlest thing can send me in a tail spin of panic and exhaustion.

The last two weeks, all I have been able to manage is work.

Work, sleep, rinse, repeat. And I am exhausted.

I am hard on myself, and tell myself “You need to try harder. There are people that are struggling far more then you are, yet they cope just fine.”

I beat myself up and curse at myself.

This week, I shattered. I knew I wasn't coping well. I knew I was pushing myself too far. But I kept at it, because after all, it was just work. I was working all day, and resting at night, making sure I wasn't putting anything else on myself. So I should have been fine, right?

Wrong.

I have fallen on my face in anxiety, frustration and exhaustion.

Grief never takes a break. Life doesn't stop because I am struggling.

I feel like all the cracks in my soul are now gaping holes. All the glue I have used to repair those cracks has come undone.

I think of myself as humpty dumpty.

Source

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the king's horses and all the king's men

Couldn't put Humpty together again

I fell. Or possibly failed. And there is no one to put me back together again.

I am reminding myself that it’s ok for me to be weak. It’s ok for me to be exhausted. And sometimes my best isn't enough for the world around me. I have to remind myself that my best, has to be enough for myself. That I have allow myself to be exhausted, rest, and not take on anymore responsibilities.

This week, I am taking time off work.

During this time, I will buy new glue, and start repairing my cracks.

If all the king's horses and all the king's men can’t put me back together, then I will do it myself. 

Stop the world

... I want to get off for a few hours.

Just a few hours so I can sleep, catch up on housework, catch up on schoolwork, maybe even read my book, and just veg out for a while.

Just a few hours where I don't have to make anyone a meal, break up any fights, look after my own or other people's children.

Just a few hours where I don't have to feel that constant worry of whether my contract will be renewed next year, or whether I can stretch the bank balance to cover the upcoming summer holidays where I won't get much pay.

Just a few hours so I can have a good cry and a decent sleep and be back on deck.

Back at the helm of this barely floating ship of a life.

Greg wasn't exactly the most domestic of husbands - when we became parents we fell into the age-old roles of him being the main breadwinner, and me being a kid-wrangler/cook/cleaner.

So he did the "boy" jobs - mowing the lawn, keeping the cars in running order, fixing the dryer...

.... but every so often, he's see me get tired and cook a meal or do the laundry.

and I never really valued that cup of coffee that I didn't have to make myself or that greasy fry-up that he made for dinner.

But just now, I really wish someone would bring me a coffee. Make the kid's beds. Even just DECIDE what I should cook the kids for dinner would be such a help.

Just so I could rest for a short while and set down the weight of the world for a while.