I stand with my hands gripping
The edge of the counter
Tears spilling to
The floor.
I can barely look at it
My birthday cake.
Here I am.
First birthday without her
And I stand alone.
No family came to celebrate
No family came to support me
During what is the most
Difficult day so far.
The aching for her
Is unbearable.
My heart cracks again
And sobs fall
From trembling lips.
No lit candles this year.
I am so sad
I am so angry
I am so lonely.
And another year begins.
I’m just checking in.
To tell you all how I’ve been
I keep surfacing for air
And looking here and there
To see if the grief is gone
To see if life can go on.
But grief’s a cheeky bugger
And not much of a hugger
He tends to sneak up on me
From behind where I cannot see
So I quickly dive back down
Trying to find smiles in all the frowns
And try to be patient with me
Because that’s what mom would want to see.
Never have I felt this
Lack of control
Over my emotions.
I have been reduced
To a quivering,
Gasping
Shell,
Drowning in the
Ocean that falls
From my eyes.
This need to
Have her back
Is all-consuming
I’m vaguely aware
Of the pleas
Tumbling from my lips
Please send her back to me.
Please send her back.
I gulp in the air only to have
The wracking sobs
Steal it back again.
My pain so tangible
Yet I feel numb to it.
Minutes feel like hours
Until the wave finally passes
And I am deposited
Bonelessly onto the
Still unfamiliar shores
Of this cold new reality.
This week has been difficult for me, regarding my grief process. My mom loved certain television shows and one in particular, “The Good Doctor” had become one of her favorites. I have been a fan of Freddie Highmore for years, my mom became a fan when we watched “Bates Motel.” This week was the second season premiere of “The Good Doctor,” and I knew it would be hard to watch, but once again I underestimated the power of grief. About halfway through the episode, I turned to ask my mom what she thought and froze. The room felt so empty, and I felt so alone in that instant that I started to cry, and then I just couldn’t stop. I tapped into the primal side of grief and just sobbed and wailed and begged whoever could hear me to allow my mom to come back again. Afterward, when I was a gasping blob on the sofa, I felt more drained than I ever have before. It wasn’t just the television show that brought this on, last weekend was the 4-month mark since my mom passed. Having it be one-third of a year since she died felt like a substantial milestone. Now I am looking forward, with dread, to the upcoming months which will have her birthday, the first holiday season since she passed, and my birthday in January. I wish I could just crawl under the covers in November and not come out until next February. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to get through it, it’s going to be the hardest time of my life. There are a lot of dark days ahead, but at the same time I know I’m going to get through it because even though my mom isn’t with me in person anymore, I know she’s still around. She’s still with me, watching over me, and that helps.
This grief, depression, whatever it is,
Has been weighing me down for days.
I try to move to shake it off
But it just wants to stay.
It’s been fed by trauma
And many have I had
Lately my life seems to be
Less good and more bad.
So now I just sit here
And feel life slipping by
Not caring, full of apathy
Only managing to cry
Waiting for this wave to crest
To ride it back to shore
Because I still have hope
There are still good days in store.
I’ve been trying to write this post for about a week now. I feel like it is vital for me to talk about and yet I feel like what happened to me isn’t as horrible as what many other women have experienced. On the other hand, I think it’s important not to downplay what happened either. A couple of weeks ago I had to cut all ties with the neighbor who helped my mom and me out so much for past four years. I had been riding a merry-go-round with him for the past several years of turning down his advances towards me. He’s married to his third wife and would often express his desires to be more than friends, and I would always tell him, “No.” He would try to rationalize it by saying things to me like, “You know, you wouldn’t be the first woman to be someone’s mistress.” Or “I’m not going another year without sex.” Or the day he brought me his copy of “The Joy of Sex” which I promptly handed back to him. My stance on the subject never wavered for a moment, and it frustrated him. One day he told me how once he wanted something he never stopped until he got his way. Maybe I should have cut ties with him then, but he helped us. And I was so burnt out taking care of my mom by myself; I let him help. I was grateful for the help. Grateful to have someone who understood my point of view and was willing to be there for us at the drop of a hat. But even silver linings cast shadows. And I was willing to ignore the shadowy side of our relationship until what I’m not very creatively calling “The Incident.” He had come over to help me with something, and before he left, he decided that it was ok to pull me to him and forcibly kiss me. I posted a poem about the incident a few days after it happened. It was shocking and as I struggled against him and kept saying, “No!” it didn’t matter. But that wasn’t the worst part. Before he left, he turned back around to me and looked me dead in the eye and just said, “Yes.” Then he turned and left. At that moment, I knew I had to cut ties. But going about life alone scared me to no end. I felt so overwhelmed by the idea since I’ve always had some kind of help to get me through tough times. I didn’t sleep for days weighing the situation. But it always kept going back to having to protect me from him. That kiss shattered all the illusions I had been wearing like blinders. I had talked myself into the idea that if I told him “No” enough times, he would stop. If I reasoned with him enough, he would see the situation from my side. But there is no reasoning with him. He wants what he wants, and I know now that how I feel about it and how it would affect his wife, should she find out about it, didn’t mean anything to him. Fast forward six days when he came over to weed the garden as nothing had ever happened. I went out onto the porch and told him that I had found someone to do that. He simply said, “Very well.” and left. I haven’t seen him since, and that was almost two weeks ago.
Facing the world alone for the first time in 46 years has, as I said before, overwhelming. I’ve been waking up early in the morning having anxiety attacks over this. But I’ve also made great strides in finding the help I need around the house which has bolstered my confidence. But dealing with my neighbor’s assault while continuing to mourn my mom and deal with the loneliness I’ve been feeling has left me emotionally drained. Throw in the failing health of my older cat, and it has me just wanting to pull the covers over my head and hide. Hide from the suffocating weight of everything that is going on. It’s just too much for my heart and my spirit to take. I’m trying to move forward with what I want to do with my life, but it’s hard doing that while dragging around all this emotional baggage. That’s why my posting of original content has kind of slowed down, I’ve been dealing with all this other stuff in my life, and it’s sapped my creativity. There have been days over the past couple of weeks where it’s all I can do just to take care of my pets and myself. But I’m working through it, and I just have to be patient with myself and listen to what my heart needs and continue to work on what I need to get past all the recent trauma I’ve experienced.
I live with depression every day. It has been a part of me since college, a fat little fellow who sits on my shoulder and whispers lies in my ear constantly. Kind of like the whole devil on one shoulder and angel on the other. But for me I have a deaf ear so I can’t hear the angel whispering in my other ear. I don’t even know if I have one on that shoulder. Anyway, he is always there, always talking to me and I fight him every day. I fight his influence over my psyche. I fight against the things he wants me to do. Don’t blog, you don’t have enough people reading your work, and it’s a waste of time. Don’t write, no one’s ever going to read it and if they do they won’t take it seriously. And never talk about me. People don’t care. Everyone has problems they have to deal with, they don’t have time to deal with yours. People tell me to just “get over it” or my favorite “there are people in wheelchairs, your life isn’t that bad.” While that second sentiment is true, all hearing things like that does is devalue my feelings. And it makes me frustrated and angry. Until you walk a mile in my shoes, don’t judge me. Don’t think you know what I’m going through. And don’t think you can empathize unless you have gone through the same thing. February is a tough month for me. My father died on the 6th and my oldest sister died in late February 2016 so her 2nd anniversary is coming up. However, this year I’m feeling defiant in the face of my depression. So I’m going to keep blogging, I’m going to keep writing, and I’m going to talk about my depression on my blog because I know realistically that I’m not alone in this daily battle. I’m part of a community with millions of others who are living despite of their depression. And if I can embolden at least one other person to open up and talk about their depression and help them in some way it would make my struggle worth it.