But not for me

Just before I published last night's post, I got some news, but didn't want to edit the post to include it, because I was too emotional.

Doug's granddaughter and her boyfriend closed on their first house yesterday. And then, as they were about to walk into their new home together for the first time, her boyfriend proposed, and she said yes.

This is, of course, WONDERFUL news. Doug absolutely adored Olivia (as he did all his grandchildren), and he was crazy about Dan. We went to plenty of weddings in our four years together, and always enjoyed them: getting dressed up, slow dancing... but we won't get to do that now.

We didn't get to attend a single wedding after we were married. I can just picture us, glancing at each other lovingly, remembering our own vows as we watch the happy couple exchange their own. And that's another memory I'll never get to make with him.

Olivia told me that she dreamed about Doug the night before the house closing and engagement. And she said that she felt him with her, because when they walked into their new home, it smelled like him. I'm so glad she was able to get that comfort. But I'm not going to lie, it ripped me apart all over again, because I still haven't had a dream about him or a sign of him, and it's killing me a little more every day.

I slept about five hours last night. No dreams. No signs. I keep trying, and trying, and doing what the experts tell me to do, but it doesn't make a difference. No matter what I do, I still feel the same darkness and emptiness and despair. The despair is overwhelming. It's unbearable. And yet still I breathe.

If I were terminally ill and lived in any one of ten states, I could get a prescription to end my life quickly, easily, painlessly, and legally. Why is that not an option for me? I'm not clinically depressed; this isn't a biochemical issue that can be fixed or even mitigated with medication and therapy. It's not seeking a permanent solution to a temporary problem: Doug's death is not temporary. I am simply done. I don't want to be here anymore. There's not a single second in the past 55 days when I HAVE wanted to be here anymore.

I don't know why I have to do this. I don't understand why it's not okay for me to just say, "I've had enough," and move on already. There's nothing else I need to do. There's nothing else I WANT to do. I'm so very tired of hearing "just take it one day at a time." FOR WHAT? FOR HOW LONG? How many days do I have to suffer like this before it's okay to give up? 60 days? Six months? A year? FIVE years? WHEN WILL I HAVE FUCKING SUFFERED ENOUGH? 

I know that life goes on, for everyone who isn't me. And I'm okay with that; it's as it should be. But life doesn't "go on" for me. Life just leaves me stuck in this place I don't want to be, without the one person I want and need. And I don't want to be stuck anymore.