Had a 90-minute session with Grace the Grief Counselor today.
That poor woman. She's trying so hard to help me, but I fear she's fighting a losing battle. What we have here is a perfect storm: Doug - the love of my life, the only man ever to love me, and the only man I've ever loved - died only four months after our dream wedding. The COVID-19 pandemic forces me to be alone all the time. That same pandemic is wearing on the friends and family who would otherwise be available to try and support me, leaving me isolated not just physically but completely. On top of that, I'm reminded every time I turn on the news that this society is over. We're led by avaricious morons who worship money while proclaiming themselves to be the real Americans (and don't even get me started on how they've bastardized faith in this country). Healthcare professionals are dying because they don't have sufficient PPE, and are getting fired for "complaining." So, no Doug, no ANYONE, society collapsing... it's all just too much.
I become more certain every day that I'm not going to make it. I don't know how long I'm going to be able to hang out in this not-alive-but-not-yet-dead state, but no way is this sustainable. Not when it gets more painful and more lonely and more frightening every day. The decreasingly frequent zoom calls with friends and family don't cut it. Nothing does.
I miss Doug, but that phrase can't even begin to communicate how I feel. I used to miss him when I went away for work for a few days, and that was difficult. This? This is impossible. We didn't have a complicated relationship or a troubled marriage; we had the fairy tale. We were totally and completely in love and besotted with each other. We wanted to be together almost all the time - and we both forced ourselves to take some time alone or with friends (and without each other) just because we knew it wasn't healthy to be glued together 24/7. But my point is, we were each other's favorite. We were each other's home. We were each other's safe space. Being without Doug is a constant physical pain, like what I imagine being stabbed in the solar plexus must feel like. Imagine feeling as though you've just been stabbed, all the time. Now imagine feeling that way all the time for 48 days.
Nothing that I used to find worthwhile is worthwhile without him. And no amount of love from other people can fill the gap that's left from what I've lost: I lost the person who loved me most of all; the person I loved most of all. I lost the sounding board for all of life's little choices and moments. I lost the only true and constant intimacy I've ever really known. I lost my partner. I lost my best friend. I lost my other and better half.
I don't see any light at the end of the tunnel. All I see is darkness.
Grace and I were talking about how much more it hurts every day that I don't dream about Doug or get a sign from him, and she suggested that I should write the letter I think he would have written for me. Even the mere SUGGESTION of such a thing sent me into uncontrollable wailing for a good ten minutes.
I realize that people are worried about me. I realize I sound like a broken record. I realize I'm spiraling. I also realize that there's nothing to be done about it.
So I wait to die*. And I hurt. And that's my life now.
*No, I'm not going to kill myself.
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