Losing the love of your life really sucks for a number of reasons. Nothing will ever be the same again.
Week two isn’t any easier than week one. Week two doesn’t bring crying and wailing; instead, it’s stabs in the heart. Everything reminds me of him, and when it does, it brings a tiny piercing pain. A friend was talking about Indian food the other day, and it occurred to me that Male and I won’t go to our favorite Indian restaurant together again. Even my dog reminds me of him since they loved each other so much. Everything reminds me of him.
I can’t listen to my music collection. Every third song reminds me of him, so I have been listening to music that I know he wouldn’t like. I’ve listened to songs that have no relation to him whatever, and even then, he’ll sneak in there, along with another little stab in the heart. It’s amazing how much of my music somehow ties back to him. I guess that will happen when you know someone for fifteen years who has similar taste in music.
On Tuesday, I was supposed to go down to my best friend’s house for our regular dork game. On Monday, I said I’d go, because I thought it might do me some good to crush heads with a big stick. But, on Tuesday, I accidentally opened Facebook. His mom is posting on Male’s account as him.
Since I was there, I scrolled through some of the pictures and then I lost it. His mom is posting every picture she can find. She posted a picture Male took of himself to ask me whether or not his tie clashed with his jacket. Male was color blind and put odd color combinations together unintentionally, so he often ran it by me since I’m a graphic designer and not color blind. He snapped a selfie just to ask me if his tie clashed and there it was on Facebook. For some reason, that is what made me lose it. Male certainly wouldn’t have posted it on Facebook. Probably the only reason he kept it was out of laziness.
So, I told my friend I wouldn’t be coming to her house. I told her that I was having a “bad day.” She said she understood and asked if there was anything she could do. I just responded, “I wish there was.”
In some ways, I miss the emotional freedom of week one. I miss wallowing and sobbing and total heartbreak, because this sort of numbness isn’t fun. This emotional limbo–only losing my shit accidentally–isn’t good for anyone. Week two is its own special kind of hell.
And, my brain continues on its journey into insanity through ridiculous thoughts. I totally understand the concept of ghosts now. I get why people believe in them. It’s because we do not want to let go. I had a moment where I really thought Male was there. It was just a moment and it was ridiculous, but it happened. The concept of ghosts, and even reincarnation, doesn’t seem all that far-fetched when you’re experiencing deep grief. We can’t let go, so we make up ghost stories.
I compiled a list this week of things people experience that cause trauma and grief and pain. Cancer, car accidents, life-threatening medical conditions, addiction, suicide, rape, torture, homelessness, prostitution, stalking, domestic violence, attempted murder, child sexual abuse, and on and on.
The only traumatic things I could think of that I haven’t experienced are prison, the death of a child and divorce. That’s it. Those are the three things that haven’t personally touched my life. And two of those are most likely because I’ve never been married nor had kids. Had I ever gotten married, I could probably scratch divorce off the list of traumas I’ve not experienced. I’m not good with relationships.
The list of traumas was very much a woe-is-me moment. It was a way to justify this anger I’m carrying around underneath all the numbness. But, there was also an oblique rationality to the list. It’s a way to protect myself from further heartbreak. It’s lunacy to think that you can avoid future suffering by writing a list, but I wanted to know what other unforeseen pitfalls there are, so that I might avoid them. What other traumas are there that I haven’t experienced yet? Will the PTSD I already have warp into a new kind?
And, I wonder why it is that I’m thinking the ridiculous things that I’m thinking. Suffering makes you do stupid things. I know this all to well, having experienced more than my fair share. I’m used to thinking irrationally in a rational sort of way. I’m used to excuses and justifications, and well, lists. But, I’m not used to the death of the person I love the most. It’s only been two weeks.