Soooo, I haven’t written in quite awhile. I’ve been doing a lot of writing in my numerous journaling notebooks. Yet, some times, I have the urge to post something on Instagram, which also get posted on Facebook. Here are a couple of recent posts:
Posted Saturday, February 13, 2021:
Remember when I was posting about cleaning up the decluttering the basement?
Well, it’s still cluttered, and it’s still so much better than it was.
The original motivation behind it was to clean up the backroom and the basement so A could turn the one corner into his space. Eventually.
I’ve been spending more time downstairs in the corner where the couch is and a TV is. I’m going through a phase where it’s hard for me to be in a room that Ted spent a lot of time in. Other than the drum set, there really are no reminders of Ted in the basement.
I use his bathroom now, and I’m still sleeping in our bed. Yet, that space in that corner is mine right now. Even with the new furniture upstairs in our family room, it hasn’t felt right to be there and spend time there for too long, even if the kids are with me. I feel haunted upstairs.
At one point, people were asking me if we would move after Ted died. I saw no reason for it. He didn’t kill himself in our house. We had a support system where we were, and I think a part of me felt I’ll be damned if I let this shit scare me away. Plus, having to sell our house and ally hat other stuff that goes with moving was nothing I wanted to, or even could mentally and emotionally, handle on top of everything else that was going on after he died.
I’m not quite sure why I started this post. Apparently, I needed to write. There is a lot that goes on with me that I don’t share, even though I want to. I want the world to know about my pain, our pain, our journey…and yet, I don’t even understand it at times. Am I even ready to expose all that haunts me? Are you even ready to know what haunts me?
Posted Saturday, February 06, 2021:
I miss you. Then, I realize I also miss what we were and what we had and the parts of being partners.
I’ve been hiding my panic, my sadness, my fears, my stress, my anxiety, anger, guilt, resentment….all of it. All of it has been underneath this mom exterior. Mom worry and Mom guilt make for convenient covers of my own emotional and mental struggles as I somehow want to deny my own grieving and processing of your death….your decision….your suicide.
This blue-black ocean of foam and storm suffocates me internally as I try to grasp everything in me wanting to be let loose.
I’m scared to let it all go and let it release because I don’t know what will happen in the havoc the emotions might leave behind.
And yet, I’m exhausted. Exhausted from holding it all together for everyone else. I have no one whose arms I can crawl and sob into. I have no one I can cling to who will understand my loss. I have no one to hand over the reigns of parenting for an hour so I can take time to myself and just let it all out.
It’s been weeks of late night or early hours of random thoughts and random tears…and sometimes, the tears don’t even come.
The nightmares wake me up, and I’m afraid to go go back to sleep to have them come again. They remind me of the hole in my life. Remind me I can’t go back to how it used to be. Remind me that I have to rethink and relearn how to live and raise kids and love myself again and move forward.
I’m bruised and scarred, and it’s so easy to hide it all behind the worry and want for our kids to grow up emotionally and mentally stronger than you and me.
The tears come silently and in the dark. I lie in bed or stare at a blank piece of paper trying to make sense of the mess inside me. Why now? Why am I feeling all this now?