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Comment by rachel_micele on July 30, 2015 at 10:51am

I know ... I can't mentally grasp how it is even humanly possible to feel such obliterating pain and this kind of existence. Not many people ask how I'm doing, thankfully, cause you're right. A new day changes so little to absolutely nothing.  

Your post reminded me of a song. Javiar Colon's, "When". Youtube link: https://youtu.be/PyHP5muFosw.

Comment by Gabrielle on July 28, 2015 at 6:19pm

That's the thing isn't it; there are no good options. Is the best case scenario really learning to live a new life without the person we love most in the world? I don't want that! I want to rewind and have my old, happy life. I don't see an end to this relentless misery. There is none. People ask me how I am like it's really going to be any different to last week. It's never different. It's always bad. Always sad. Always crying. Always looking every day in the mirror and not recognising myself. It's just pain pain pain.

Comment by rachel_micele on July 28, 2015 at 4:52pm

Oh how I wish I had the answer Gabrielle. I've been asking "how" do you do this (life) from day one. Still searching for the answer ...

In my efforts to describe this darkness, a couple days ago I came up with it's the dark within the dark. But all I've described still doesn't satisfy me. In those desperate suicidal moments, I could totally hear the last thing that would go through my head, besides the bullet. ["FUCK IT" "Bang!"] Gun would be grabbed with no delay. No hesitation. Don't know why but if I were to ever do something like that, don't feel I'd want it on a whim.

When I was processing suicide with my counselors I calculated all my options. 1) I could either not deal with this and years down the road be completely miserable, numb, whatever the case. I've had enough misery, heartbreak, and emotional repression already to last my entire life. I don't care to continue it. Nor, for me anyway, do I personally see the point of being here if that's the case. 2) I could get through this hell somehow. 3) Kill myself now and be done with it. Granted, I hate them all. I don't want any of them. I hate that I am even living this experience in the first place.

Thinking more of the "we managed before and we will manage again". No, I was not managing life at all to my satisfaction before Gary. He was finally changing that. No, I will never, ever be the same. Gary is the only one that has ever meant the entire world to me and he always will. Yes, I died the day I lost Gary and it has been an absolute nightmare of complete hell. But that line did shift something. Not when thinking about my life before Gary, but when thinking about relationships prior to Gary. So maybe, a vague place to start in thinking about life now. For the last 4½ months I've been clinging to any rope I can find so I guess this concept shouldn't be any different.

Thinking about John T's post and the part of gratefulness ... I've thought maybe a person has at least started to heal when one can say thank you. Thank you to your love, thank you to life that you had the opportunity to experience someone so precious, whatever. I don't know though. I'm not at that place. I can be grateful for things that happened, were said, and especially how things were the last 4 months before he passed. But I am not grateful that all I got was 5 years max. 3 1/2 being with him (although Gary would say longer). And really, 4 months just getting started.

Comment by Gabrielle on July 26, 2015 at 6:21pm

Rachel the comment you made about the handgun is what I think about all the time. I do wonder, if I had access to one would I have used it by now? In the most horrid moments of darkness and bleakness I think it is possible. Especially if alcohol was involved.
Everything is awful, I hate my existence. A lifetime of pain stretches formidably before me. What is the answer to all this :( x

Comment by bluebird on July 25, 2015 at 8:24pm

"We managed before this person came into our life and we will manage again." 

No.  The person who wrote that doesn't have a fucking clue.  Maybe it does work that way for some people, but to put it forth as a platitude that holds true for everyone (or even for most) is bullshit, and wrong.

In my particular case -- yes, I managed before I met my husband.  I have great parents, a wonderful sister and BIL.  I had friends, went to college, backpacked around Europe, held jobs, went to grad school, etc.  Life was ok, but there was definitely something missing -- or, rather someone, and that someone was my beloved husband.  Life became infinitely better once I met him.

The thing is, I am not the same person now as I was before I met him.  Loving him, and having him love me, changed me so much for the better, and him being dead has torn apart my life and my soul. It's not as though now I just revert back to the person I was before I met him.  THAT person had certain life experiences, certain goals, etc., but the person I became while with him had more -- I still had experiences and goals, some of them the same as before, but now I also had new experiences and new goals, such as finding an old home we could buy and fix up together, having kids together, etc.  None of that will ever happen now. I cannot be the person I was before I met my husband, because the act of us being together changed who I am (for the better), and his death again changed who I am (for the worse).  The person I was before I met my husband is dead. The person I was while my husband was alive and here with me is dead. All that is left is this husk.

 

 

Comment by rachel_micele on July 23, 2015 at 1:46pm

How I feel the things you said John T. And I've wondered how Tuesday went for you. *hugs!* I struggle every day to make sense of this and believe it actually happened. My brain understands; my heart doesn't. Granted, I don't want to believe and I don't know how to change that. But the concepts you expressed I feel much of it. And you worded it all sooo very well.

I am waiting on Gary's family to get everything in line to bury the ashes. I don't know how it will go for me. I wanted to see the body before the cremation but his dad told me, "No, I really don't and just remember him how he was". I was a bit, something, by that answer. Don't tell me how I feel. But knew I had to be sensitive (or in my counselor's words, diplomatic and practical) with how I handled the situation. So I didn't push and let it go. I watched the people at the memorial service from a distance through binoculars because of the family dysfunction. The burial service I feel so important to attend, whenever they get around to it.

There is a small book I bought recently called “Back to Life” and serves as a guidebook for grief recovery. I have things helpful and reading it slow. But one thing mentioned was that (I'm paraphrasing) we managed before this person came into our life and we will manage again. While I felt something able to move/shift emotionally in that perspective and that was a good thing, for me, that's still isn't true. And reading your story I think you may be able to relate in some way. I wasn't managing in life before Gary came along. I never have. I've only struggled and gotten by. Gary by my side was the point where I felt everything could finally change and life would take off and happen for me. So now that he's physically gone, I don't feel I just lost my love, I lost literally everything.