I wrote this in May, after it had been a month. People always talk about how important it is to get support, and I very much agree. I denied needing any counseling before or after placement, thinking I could do it all on my own. I was right...to some degree, though some peace would have been much easier to find had I gotten real help. My personal support staff all ran in the other direction, as quickly as possible. These were my words after a very long drive home from work...
So it has been a month now...
Somewhere in the back of my mind I keep telling myself that I should be over it. That it shouldn't hurt anymore. Or more importantly, it should not have EVER hurt. But it does. And its not getting better. It's getting worse. Much worse...
When a decision as plain an simple as the one we made blows up in your face, it sets you back a little. Whether you want it to or not. You figure out pretty quick that no matter how well people mean, your grief and frustration makes them scatter like flies. That its easier to run from you, or ignore "it", avoid "it". Its like a huge atomic bomb dropped and everyone you know doesn't want to get dust from the fallout blast on their shiny new white shoes. (and I know that feeling...because I hate when new white shoes get dirty!!!!)
So then you get angry. Not slightly angry....more like wanting to slit throats in people's sleep angry. You hate EVERYBODY. It bleeds out from your pores. A friend of mine came up with this great analogy the other day about a sprinkler. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate all of you. And that's what pulses out of me every day. And then I feel stupid, because who am I to feel entitled that these people should give a rat's ass if I want to blow my head off or not. And believe me...I do want to.
I am a boss. Somewhat...sometimes...nobody has to really be my friend. Or maybe they are, and its just too weird to be around me now. Or maybe its none of that.
Driving home the other night, I pulled my car off to the side of the road and screamed at the top of my lungs for ten straight minutes. Banshee screamed! Cried, hit the wheel, hyper ventilated....the works. And then I drove home. Like nothing happened. Just like everyone wants it...nothing ever happened.
My other half is frustrated now with me too. In the beginning, he was a strong supporter. He watched while I cried, shriveled up, drank too much, ate WAY too little. Three weeks his loving vigil lasted. But since he's over it now, I should be too. Or so he says. Funny, considering I am the one who lived through this amputation of the soul...whether I chose to or not.
I hate working. I hate talking on the phone. I hate having to pretend that things are fine, when they are sooooooooo far from being fine.
My therapist said it takes time, and I should heal at my own pace. I wish I could have a huge pow wow and have her tell that to everyone else. Maybe then, someone would listen.
I wish things were back to normal too...believe me I do. But there is no getting back to normal. Something inside snapped. Something big. Something that took away all my sense of reasoning. How do I go to "functioning"? Forget normal. Functioning would be nice.
Believe you me, if I could have lived through it the way I intended to, unphased and unscarred I would have. One of my customers at work was talking to me about it the other night and he said, "Hon-you couldn't have really been thinking everything would be fine and you wouldn't hurt?" And I looked at him, half crazed, and told him thats EXACTLY what I thought was going to happen!!!!! That's the problem. It didn't turn out right.
Its not that I want back what was mine. Its not that I have regrets for the decision. That's part of the problem....I don't know where the problem started. When the shock wore off? When Sundays roll around? When some asshole asks me a totally inappropriate question?
How do you correct a problem when the right answer has been given?
And how long can you go crazy before you've gone as far as you can go?