Still on the hamster wheel

Yesterday was Tuesday, so it was grief counseling day, which is to say it was another day in which I spent an hour that did nothing to help. It's not Grace's fault, so I don't blame her for that: nothing helps. I keep having sessions with her (and with Brooke) not because they help, but because those two hours I spend each week paying for professionals to talk to me are the only times I feel remotely sane. I'm living an insane experience at an insane time, when everyone else is busy with their own flavor of insanity. And I think folks are running out of patience for my flavor of insanity; believe me, I can relate.

Another reason yesterday's session didn't help is because I felt like crap yesterday (so far, today is much the same): I was nauseated the entire day, so I lived on ginger ale and crackers. And that was like yet another kick in the teeth, because it drove home the fact that there's NO ONE TO TAKE CARE OF ME and I am fucking sick of it. If Doug were here, he would've made me toast with a little grape jam. He would've taken care of the animals so I wouldn't have to worry about it. He would've snuggled up with me, and kissed my forehead, and rubbed my back, and told me how much he loves me.

But he's not here, and he's never going to be here, and so I have to do EVERYTHING FOR MYSELF FOREVER AND I FUCKING HATE THIS SO FUCKING MUCH BECAUSE I FINALLY WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING FOR MYSELF ANYMORE.

I've had other times in my life when I've been low, but in the past I've ALWAYS been able to dig deep, find some reserve - some goal, some vision, some mission - to propel me into action to get my life back on track. Full disclosure: sometimes that goal was as simple as "is that all you've got, universe? FUCK YOU, I won't let you win!" The problem is that I don't have any goals now; I don't have a mission; I don't have any vision. My goals all had Doug wrapped up in them, so I have to find new goals. But there's nothing I want, save the one thing I can't have: the universe found a way to checkmate me.

The things I could think of doing to honor Doug's memory or work through my grief are all things I can't do because of this stupid pandemic. Watch sports? Nope, sorry - no sports anymore, and no sports in the foreseeable future. Cook Doug's favorite meals? HAH! I don't care if I never cook again, and that's a big loss: cooking used to be one of my favorite things. Go for a hike and commune with nature? Can't do that either, because every idiot in Middle Tennessee is now out on the trails even if they've never set foot in the woods before. Learn something new? Can't take martial arts, or painting, or any other kind of class. Do a show? Not an option, because nobody's doing shows now anyway, and there's that whole "can't possibly learn lines and can't control my emotions" problem. Take a weekend and go rent a cabin in Gatlinburg for a change in scenery? Yeah, that's NEVER happening again; I've taken my last trip to the Smoky Mountains. Travel somewhere else? Ummmm, no. For one thing, COVID-19; for another, traveling was OUR thing; traveling alone, with no one to share it with? Might as well take me to Alaska, put me on an ice floe, and push me out to sea.

I hate who I have become in the past 76 days. I used to be competent, strong, driven, action-oriented, able to make a plan and stick to it. Now, it's a good day if I can get it together enough to scoop the litter boxes. My house is disgusting: cluttered, disorganized, with dust bunnies lazily blowing across the living room like so many tumbleweeds. My "garden" is so full of weeds that it looks as though the house has been abandoned. I'm not competent anymore - at anything other than crying, it seems. I'm certainly not strong anymore. I keep making plans for each day, and then failing to do what I planned because I just can't muster up the energy.

We were going to plant a butterfly garden this Spring, but I can't do that. For one thing, I don't have the energy to deal with the forest of weeds that used to be the garden. For another, I can't exactly go out shopping at the local nursery. And, most important, Doug was the one with the green thumb: I kill everything (except, of course, the weeds, which evidently see me as their overlord). So planting a garden to honor him is out.

This new Kathleen sucks. I hate her as much as I hate everything else: she's pitiful, and embarrassing, and unable to DO anything. Doug would never have fallen in love with this Kathleen; he would have RUN from her.

And if one more person tells me "you're not alone," I'm likely to scream at them until their eardrums rupture, because yes, I fucking well AM alone. When you tell me "you're not alone," you're making yourself feel better, because you want to believe that caring about me is somehow going to make me feel better. But you're wrong. You may care about me, but that doesn't make me any less alone, and until you face reality and stop invalidating MY EXPERIENCE to make it easier for you, then please just go away because you're actually making it worse.

It's very, very difficult to go from being beloved to being an afterthought, and that's what I am now, to all but maybe a handful of people. I'm not complaining or feeling sorry for myself here: this is the natural order of things, really. Sure, there are other people who miss Doug, but there's only one person - me - whose daily life is forever changed by his death. And Doug would've been the only person whose daily life would have been forever changed by my death, if it had been me instead of him. Nobody loves me like that now. Nobody wants to share my life now. Nobody holds my hand. Nobody holds me when I cry or when I sleep. Nobody wants to know every thought in my head. Nobody looks at me as though I'm the most beautiful creature they've ever seen. Only Doug did that, but he can't do it anymore.

So PLEASE stop telling me that I'm not alone. Because I am. And if that reality makes YOU sad or uncomfortable, imagine what it's like to LIVE it.