I wonder if those who’ve passed on can watch us, the ones left here. Are they shocked at the difference in someone they knew in life because they can now see how they really are in death? Can my grandma see me? And not just see me, but know what I’m feeling and thinking? Can she see my inexplicable sadness these past couple of weeks? Sometimes I wake up and remember that she’s gone and its like a surprise that I have to adjust my brain to again and again.
My sadness hasn’t been 100% due to her passing although that is part of my melancholy. I’ve been in one of my “black” periods, to be quite dramatic about it. Sleeping a lot, missing a bit of work, not socializing, shutting myself off, irritable, snippy, crying, lackluster. A good ol’ bout of old fashioned depression I guess. For a combination of reasons that are better left to my therapist’s ears during tomorrow’s visit than for me to lay out here. Feeling like I’m just taking up space, unfulfilled, not challenged, useless, second best, less than, etc etc. All the pathetic pitiful lame things. I feel wretched even typing this. Like, what is wrong with me??? Freakin’ crazy person, that’s what.
When this happens at its worst, I nearly cease to function. I don’t want to do anything but sleep. I have no motivation for anything but what I absolutely have to do to get by. I haven’t been eating well and exercise has been non-existent the past few weeks. I’m currently thinking that I won’t even bother with the 1/2 Marathon that I was training for. My heart isn’t in it anymore. That makes me feel like a failure. Again.
Kiddo has been pushing my buttons lately. She is severely attached to me. Like, I can’t go anywhere without her. She doesn’t want her daddy, she wants me. It’s sweet and endearing until I can’t remember who I was before being a mom anymore and am on the verge of running away. Really running away, not just to the grocery. Yesterday I finally put my foot down and went for a drive just to escape the responsibility. I came home to news that she had sobbed herself to sleep calling for me. My tombstone is going to read, “She lived every day trapped by guilt for one reason or another. Even when she fled to the grocery store for some peace”.
The mommy thing isn’t all bad of course and I don’t mean to insinuate that at all. We spent a great day at the zoo and at her best friend’s house, we went to her first Titans game, the ballet, rescued a turtle with a chopped off leg, yada yada. She’s funny and sweet and loving. The bad doesn’t last. It’s like the pain of getting a tattoo. The pain lasts until you think you can’t stand it anymore and then it stops, is soothed and then starts over again. But while the needle is poking you, over and over again…you wonder what in the hell you were thinking.
And I wish I could explain it all better. I know my impatience with kiddo is a by product of my mood and other things that are going on. That’s not fair to her and I try not to let her see it although I’m not always successful at that either. The Accountant doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand why I’m just not happy, why I snap at him and kiddo, why I just start crying for no apparent reason. Basically, I’ve been a royal pain to live with lately.
I had a dream this morning. I was running. Through fields, up hills, through forests, in between weird blue crosses, along the beach…dodging cars and people…running fast and strong and free….I came to a path up a steep hill alongside the ocean. Instead of running along the beach, I choose the uphill path. I could see a sparkling city skyline over the top of the crest and I was running towards it as fast as I could. And then my alarm went off and I cursed the interruption. Always reaching for something that I can’t ever seem to obtain.