From being the star to being an extra

I haven't written in days; I've been too paralyzed by emotions raging out of control. And "raging" is the right word, because I've been mostly furious since I woke up Saturday morning. And when I say I've been furious, I mean it took every bit of willpower I have not to take the cast iron fireplace poker and break EVERY FUCKING THING IN MY  HOUSE. This would be a great time to take up boxing; alas, there no boxing gyms near me (that I know of), and gyms are closed anyway, so...

What am I so angry about? For starters, the fact that I've had to deal with SO MUCH loss in the past 68 days: Doug, Prowler, my future, my intelligence, my very identity, my ability to socialize. Then there's the fact that the people who most WANT to help, can't: my sister has asked me several times to go and visit her and her family. But here's the thing: there's NOTHING that will be beneficial about being with my sister and her grown kids, with all their long, happy marriages like the one I'll never get to have with my husband. It would feel like everybody is rubbing their happiness in my face: "Look how happy WE are! AND YOU'RE ALL ALONE NOW AND FOR THE REST OF YOUR PATHETIC, LONELY LIFE." Of course I know that's not what they're actually doing, but the intent isn't the issue; the FACT is the issue: I will never get to have the happiness that they have, and yeah - it pisses me off. A LOT.

I'm angry that the universe has played this most horrible prank on me, teasing me with a great love and then stealing it from me and leaving me alone.

I'm angry that I'm so weak and pathetic that I can't get it together and start moving forward.

I'm angry that people are bitching and moaning about the fucking gray roots in their hair because of the COVID-19 restrictions, meanwhile they get to sleep next to their spouses every night. (Yes, I recognize that everyone has problems, and I try to be understanding, but on the inside, it's HARD not to be resentful of people who are complaining about temporary problems when my husband is dead forever.)

I'm angry that the Futurama suicide booths aren't a real thing, because I'd be ALL OVER that shit.

I'm angry that I can't just pick up and run away, but what would be the point anyway? I'd still be lonely and sad and angry, just in a different place.

I'm angry that I can't see ANY way to be happy without Doug.

I am REALLY FUCKING ANGRY that, on Saturday, I could hear Prowler walking in the kitchen (you'll remember that I had to put Prowler down on Friday). So I got a sign from PROWLER, but still nothing from Doug? WHAT THE FUCK?!? Again: being rejected by my dead husband whom I love so much? That's agony.

And before some armchair psychologist jumps in and says that this represents "progress" to the "anger stage" of grief, let me stop you right there: Kubler-Ross came up with those stages in relation to people who are terminally ill and how they work through it to come to acceptance of THEIR OWN coming deaths. It was NEVER intended to be used to represent how grief works for those of us grieving the loss of a loved one, and even if it WERE, those "stages" of grief are not linear. So, the past few days I've been angry. Tomorrow, I may be nothing but a meat bag of tears again.

I've been tossed by a grief tsunami over and over again for 68 days now. I take no pleasure in ANYTHING. Going for a walk in the sunshine SHOULD feel good; I can feel the warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze; I can hear the birds singing; I can smell the flowers. I can feel all those things, but they don't feel good; they don't elicit any kind of emotional response.

In news that shouldn't really be news to anyone, Grace the Grief Counselor has concluded that my grief is complicated by my anxiety about the future (ya THINK?!?). To that end, she has extracted from me a promise that I will at least attempt not to allow myself to think about the future until September 7 (Labor Day; there's no real significance to that date at all: I just picked it at random). And she gave me some techniques to use to get me back to thinking about rightthissecond instead of two years from now.

Will it work? I don't know. I mean, even if all I think about is rightthissecond, the problem is that, rightthissecond, I'm miserable and I don't want to be here. So I'm not really sure that it's going to make a difference beyond "ooh, rightthissecond I feel like shit, so I'll distract myself."

I'm just so very tired of it all. I want my life back. I want my husband back. I want to cook him dinner, and bring him coffee, and sleep next to him, and talk to him, and do everything with him, and do nothing with him.

But if I can't have anything I want - and I can't - what am I supposed to do? How does being in rightthissecond help me when every rightthissecond is miserable because I want what I can't have?

I was the lead in Doug's story, but I'm not that anymore, and I won't be again; I'm now just a bit player in a lot of people's stories. And that's just not good enough for me.