It is 1:27 and I cannot sleep. The brain in my head is on non-op. My ability to function is on the fritz, as is my hair, feeding the fish, and putting stamps on letters and bills I've mailed.
Where in the past I have handled stress relatively well: balanced and adjusted, balanced and adjusted... I've found of recent that actually I cannot handle stress, balance or adjustments at all. I go in head strong, but recent bouts with anxiety and panic attacks find me retreating for shelter. I don't necessarily even FEEL the panic first. I feel my heart pounding so hard I start to shake, can't catch my breath... and then it's all down hill. Once I can't catch my breath then I start to feel claustrophobic, and that doubles the anxiety, triples the heart, and takes me down.
I'm one for just a few really close friends, and many acquaintances. I fear that as I continue to retreat, all I manage to do is alienate the loved ones who are trying to reach out to me. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to do. Hang in there if you can.
Every morning I wake up and thank God that this was all just a bad dream. Every.Single.Morning. And then it hits me. Again.... Every.Single.Morning. And I have to relive every bit of the last 2 years that was mostly a landslide and in the end took James. Otherwise I don't believe it. Every time I hear a diesel engine I my heart assumes it is him in the truck and I feel an immediate relief, 'cause now that he's home things can get back to normal. But it's not him. This is real.
I went to a benefit BBQ the other day and counted up the members of my family... OK I am a family of 5, plus my dad, James' mom and step dad, his sister... bought tickets, handed them out. And had one left. Well where did this come from? ............Sh*t. I counted James. I am NOT a family of 5. I am a family of 4. FOUR FOUR FOUR. Can't get it through my head....
This implies that I am a mother of 3 and no husband. But I'm married. I still wear my ring, and wear one of James' rings too now. But a document I signed the other day for USMC one of the gazillion forms I need to sign, and it needed the date the marriage ended. And the date pre-entered was the date of his death. I have never thought of it like that. I can't do this. I want to argue with that damn form and tell them I don't want to put that. I know what they mean, it just hurts to see it in writing.
This changes how I define myself. And I just can't do that. The side bar 'about me' on my blog says: mommy, wife, daughter. It's his death, but it's killing me.
I've started grocery shopping at other stores so I hopefully won't run into anyone. It's the knowing looks. Nobody knows what to say. It's OK! Just tell me you don't know what to say, but you just thought you'd say hi. That's not the way it is though. It's the knowing looks of pity: OMG, she's that mom whose husband died. It's the knowing looks of recollection on eye-contact and then they dart the way. It's the knowing looks of people I don't know very well who want to stop and have a heart-to-heart in the soup aisle and find out what really happened. Oh for the love of God, people, I just want everyone to know how to act around me even if I don't know what that is. I know; it's a stretch... and not practical. I know. I know. I get it. Boo.
For a while my body was letting me sleep as much as I wanted, as often as I needed to escape. Tonight I am praying for that to return, cause this staying up thing, tossing and turning, thinking and mulling, panicking and anxiety have got to stop. It makes for good blogging topics and inspiration , but nothing for the soul. Just want my soul back.