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I don't get true pleasure from anything lately. There have been a few moments since Dave died when I did, but it's always been muted. Experienced through a gauzy, hazy layer of numbness. Lately, though, even getting simple comfort has been hard.
My brain seems to be on the negativity channel and I can't change the frequency like I often can. A silly comedy I'd normally lose myself in at least partially, just annoys me. I can't find relief in music. No genre seems right, songs either grate at my nerves or make me too sad. Food is a requirement, not a pleasure. Being alone doesn't feel soothing and being with others feels like I'm putting on an act.
I'm angry, bitter, sad and confused. I don't want to take a hike, or go on a little road trip, or cook, or paint or take pictures or learn to play my guitar. I don't feel like volunteering or traveling, or working on my resume or my Oregon teacher's license. I don't want to walk dogs, or work on my dog training certification. I want out of my skin. I want escape. I want to feel better. But I feel awful. Awful inside, awful outside. I feel jealous of others who don't have a dead spouse. I feel jealous of people who have kids. I feel jealous of people who have had loving parents. I am searching, searching, searching for a glimpse of the feeling of true belonging.
I keep realizing for a moment or two that that feeling died with Dave and that it might be years before I feel that way again, if I ever do. Then, I forget that fact and feel so convinced I can find the feeling again. Where is it? I think. Oh right, it's gone.
I got myself out to the nail salon today. Forced myself. As the woman was painting my nails, I overheard another woman say "I tried to mow the lawn today...".
My eyes filled with tears as I thought, I used to have a lawn. I used to have a life. I used to have a future. It's all gone. Sitting there with my hand cradled in a stranger's hand, I wanted to tear it away from her, run out of the place and race home to cry. I waited it out, and finished the manicure, paid and trudged home.
I tried to eat lunch, but the only thing I could fathom putting in my mouth was ice cream. I shoved spoonfuls in while crying loudly like I've heard kids do when they don't get their way. A temper tantrum cry. A helpless, wailing, outpouring of frustration.
I tried to watch a funny movie and it made me mad and sob more. My big, warm, purring cat curled up on my chest and I felt empty. Even his sweet warmth wouldn't soak in.
What do you do when the things you normally rely on for comfort no longer work their magic?
Where do you go? Can I run from this? Can I fake it till I make it? The inertia of my misery feels irresistible. It feels like there isn't enough love in the world to ever fill the holes in my heart. It feels like there isn't a thing I could do that wouldn't make me more miserable.
It will pass and the light will come again, I tell myself.
Hold on and wait it out. It won't last forever I say.
But I don't believe it right now. Right now it feels like I'll always feel this empty.
Sitting here, on the other side of it, I'm relieved it's over for now. I hope I'll have from now until after Camp Widow to ride this wave of feeling better. If not, I'll be Miss Dramatic SADNESS trudging around the Marriott in San Diego with a little storm cloud over my head and a pint of mint chocolate chip in my hand.
