Once more it’s the up and down, the crash and bang of my mood smacking into the ceiling and then hurtling down into the basement. In a matter of hours, minutes sometimes. Too much emotional reactivity to things that probably don’t really matter, but seem SO important in the moment.
I am telling myself that this all has to do with being sick and isolated and off my game and away from work. Because, I am NOT going to the hospital again, not now. Someone, perhaps my therapist or maybe my sister, told me that extended illness could really mess with your mood. Well, here is living proof.
Like a fool, I have been dredging up these memories of DSB. You see, he was an ass, but I DO have some good memories of our time together. And with those memories at the forefront, it’s hard to keep in mind all of the negative. And it makes me think — where did our love go wrong? Was it me and all my craziness? Did I need too much, ask for too much? Did he love me the most he possibly could and it just wasn’t enough? Was he just that limited? But more importantly — I think it was my fault. It could have been, right? I could have made it work if I CHANGED him more. How ridiculous, right? Sadness will do that to you, make you think that way.
You see, I’m calling this sadness, and not depression, because the two are entirely different. I’m still functioning — I just feel really crappy off and on. I had a very nice evening yesterday with Mom and the Big Dawg. I even ate some real food — steak and a baked potato. It doesn’t get more real than that, right? That should make me HAPPY, right? It did, for a little while.
And then I got home and it was just me and the pup and I started to think about how excited Rascal would always be when you came home and how DSB was always, always waiting in the office with some trashy TV on to hear how it all went. There isn’t anyone to tell how it all went when I get home now. There isn’t anyone to kiss me goodnight or to nag at me to take meds or encourage me to get to bed. The last voice I hear of the day now is Mom’s, or Dad’s, several hours before I go to bed, and while I know they love me dearly, it’s just not the same.
I got up in the middle of the night last night, and have on several other nights here lately, and was surprised that the light wasn’t on in the office. Like I expected him to be there. Why would I expect that or even want that? I think this must be all part of the grieving process, that I can’t believe I’m STILL going through. If I look at it, though, it’s only been a little over two months that he’s been gone.
So is this normal? Is this grief for DSB and a longing for someone to just be there? Or is this madness brought on by all the medical problems I’ve had the last six weeks, not including the mental health issues toward the first part of that? Maybe it’s both. Whatever it is, I hate it. Fucking hate it. Half the time I feel like I’ve got it together and the other half I’m just falling apart.