I tried so hard and got so far,
But in the end it didn’t even matter
It’s Deathiversary month (technically 11/1). I…have given myself permission to feel and do what I need. If I don’t cook? Fine. If clothes are left in an unfolded pile: fine. As long as D and the cats are taken care of and bills paid, that’s what matters.
OK I am terrible about folding and putting away laundry normally, so I shouldn’t use this month as an excuse.
But emotions and experiences are funny things. I can feel them pulling on me. And in my last post I referenced the one decoration I pulled out.
I feel so depressed. And it’s OK! I am OK (and quite medicated). It’s like a weight on top of me. It truly isn’t as bad as last year, which caught me off guard. D is 13 now and being, well, 13. It’s normal life stress, but it feels bigger? Maybe because I am the only one?
And I am trying so hard to be a good employee and leader at work. I have a team depending on me and frankly, work is my respite. Even when I wish I could spend all day in bed.
A friend texted yesterday and extolled how pretty the day was and asked if I would get out at all.
I probably misinterpreted it, but my first thought was, “wow…is that the impression I have given? That I refuse to go outdoors? Do I come off as that slothful?”
I replied something about vampires and sun, but it smarted. D and I went to get pumpkins and then I sat on the front porch for a bit. And I received a mosquito bite for my effort.
Believe me. I know I have lots of things to work on. No one knows that better than I do. Painfully self aware. My therapist and I discuss it on Mondays.
I’m just trying to get through this month and the other whammys life has decided to gift me recently.
And I never expected Hole and Linkin Park to be the soundtrack to my widowhood, but here we are. I have a Spotify playlist entitled “Ire and Rage.” Oh well. One foot in front of the other. I will get by.