It was just a matter of time

NOTE: This post is not a complaint; it's an observation of my reality. So don't get pissy and defensive, mmmkay? Because it's not about you, and I won't take it kindly if you make it about you.

Yesterday was two months to the day since Doug died. It was a bad day, which was evident to anyone who follows me on Facebook and/or reads this blog. With all the people surrounding me who love me so much, you'd think that I would've been well supported yesterday, but not so much.

I got one text. I got no phone calls.

I knew this would happen eventually; I didn't expect it to happen this soon. I suppose that at least some folks are feeling like I should be doing better by now (spoiler alert: I'm not, and I hope you never find yourself in a position to understand just how very "not doing better" one is only two months after losing the love of their life). Or, if it's not that they're sick of listening to or reading about my misery, they're just living, as people do.

Again, I'm not saying any of this to complain. I'm saying it to illustrate just how fucking alone I am. Sure, if I reach out, people will try to make time for me. But they aren't reaching out anymore, because they have their lives to live.

I do not have a life to live.

I had my weekly session with Grace the Grief Counselor this morning, and we're at an impasse: she keeps trying to convince me that I can indeed find joy and meaning in life without Doug; I keep explaining that I don't care how much other joy, or other meaning I COULD find, because it doesn't matter if I don't have him.

And that's really what it boils down to: even if it were possible to find small packets of happiness here and there, none of that could ever be enough to balance the pain of living without the one person I loved most, who loved me most. If you were to look at it as a set of balancing scales, where joy is on one side of the scale and anguish is on the other, the pain of losing Doug weighs heavier than ANY amount of joy; the pain will always win.

I spent most of my life that I was made to be alone and live with a constant undercurrent of loneliness. And because that's all I ever knew, I could live with it. But Doug proved otherwise; I was NOT made to be alone; I was made to be in a warm, strong, happy relationship with a man I love more than I love myself, who loved me more than himself. THAT'S how I became fully myself; that's how I became the Kathleen who was able to love her life, even when things were difficult.

I don't have that anymore. I can't have it again, because he's gone. And it is colossally unfair that I have to stay here, alone and lonely, spending the rest of my days here wishing that I weren't. Grace keeps saying this despair isn't sustainable, but 61 days of it indicate otherwise.

I hurt. I'm tired of hurting. I miss Doug. I want Doug. I need Doug. I can't ever have him again.