I managed six hours of sleep last night. No dreams, and I still don't feel rested, which is no doubt due to the fact that I haven't had a good night's sleep in 70 days. I don't remember being this tired when I had a NEWBORN in the house, FFS.
I've found myself not even able to do any real grief work for most of this past week; instead, I'm alternating periods of crying/screaming/wailing with distractions (mostly Netflix and Hulu). I'm feeling plenty, but I'm not actually processing anything, and that's not good.
I continue to struggle with wanting to die so I can be with Doug: to paraphrase Tony in After Life, I'd rather be nowhere with Doug than somewhere without him. And that internal battle has become more challenging as more and more people have dropped away and stopped reaching out (not a complaint; an observation). There are a few people who continue to message me and text me, and I appreciate them so much, even if it IS just pity that's driving them. And I can't imagine it's anything BUT pity, because it's not as though I'm in any way useful to ANYONE these days: I'm not fun anymore, I don't have insightful commentary on the news of the day anymore, I have no good advice to give to anyone anymore... I don't blame people for avoiding me. I wish I could avoid me. Alas, the only way I can think of to do that would be to get drunk and stay that way, and I'm avoiding overindulging in booze because - while I'm certainly not at my cognitive best - I know that would be dangerous.
My short-term disability has been approved through May 31, and I think that's about as far as it'll go, so it's time for me to start working on ways to get my shit together enough that I can get back to work by then. I know I won't be at full capacity by then - I may NEVER be, but I'm not allowed to think about that. But I can't sit here forever waiting to die, tempting though that is. Thanks for ignoring my multiple requests over the past few years to get life insurance, my love! (Yes, that was sarcasm; if Doug had been insured, maybe money would be the one thing I WOULDN'T have to stress about, but why should I get ANYTHING easy, right?)
So, I've taken another stab at putting together a schedule - at least for weekdays. I need to get some structure into my days, and I need to start doing some things for myself. It's clear that the universe isn't going to just let me will myself to die, so if I'm going to be stuck here, I have to prepare to enter the world again, whether I want to or not.
I've got my schedule time-boxed, but it's not carved in stone. What's important is that I'm blocking out time to do the following:
- Meditate three times a day: 20 minutes first thing in the morning, 20 minutes midday, 20 minutes at bedtime
- 30 minutes a day of exercise
- Four hours a day of work (that may be grief work, or it may be housework, or it may be any combination of the above)
- Two hours a day of targeted (grief-related) reading
- 90 minutes a day that's "wildcard" time (just do whatever I feel like doing)
- Five hours a day of recreation (that might be recreational reading, or watching something on Netflix or Hulu, or painting)
- One hour a day of routine chores
Will I actually adhere to this schedule? Hell if I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and if there's going to be any chance that I can ever be a functional adult again, I have to give it a shot.
None of what I've written here should be interpreted to mean that I'm doing any better, or that I've found my will to live. Because I'm not, and I haven't. I have zero hope that I'm ever going to feel better. I have zero hope that I'll ever do anything but go through the motions of having a life even though I don't really. I've accepted that my remaining time in this life will be nothing but miserable. All I'm doing here is trying to fill that time.
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