Jen

I'm still at work. I'll be leaving here in a few minutes to head to rehearsal-- I'm insane and agreed to tackle a play in the last three weeks before they open. For those two or three hours, I get out of my head and into someone else's, so it's a relief, but it's exhausting too. Home, pajamas, one last look at the board, then hit the pillow and hope for sleep. Back to work tomorrow. Try to stave off hopelessness for another day. Yeah... super sexy, that. :-/

This is exactly how I feel, right now. In the grand scheme of things, considering all I have been through in the last few years, I am doing as well as could be expected. I have a decent job, and surviving on autopilot is getting me through my days, but I want more than that for my life. Much as I hate to quote a quote, I can't say it any better. This is me as well. By and large, I'm *okay*. But okay is not great, it's a bleak, grey existence, and I just can't face that for the next 30 or 40 years. I want to live again. I just don't know how.

(((((HUGS)))))) I do that to myself sometimes-- pick up something I know will trigger grief and despair, but I feel compelled to look at it anyway. It's almost like I want to feel bad. I don't really think it's that; I think it's more that I want to remember what it was like to feel loved, wanted, cherished. For me it's not pictures-- there just aren't that many-- but words: emails, texts, messages. Some of them are mundane, others are intensely emotional, but they all hurt. They remind me that there was a time when I was the most important person in someone's life, and that helps for a millisecond or so-- it's like the moment you touch a hot pan, before the searing pain sets in, when you think, Crap, what have I done? Then it just hurts. Not a great analogy, really-- sorry about that. I tell myself, very firmly, that I will not go there-- there's no point in being a masochist, when I know for a fact that opening that box will just open the wound again. Sometimes I can't help it, I do it anyway. I want to know that I didn't dream it-- I was loved. The pain that inevitably follows just reinforces my belief that I will never have that again, and maybe I want that as well. Maybe I've become too... secure in my misery, if that makes any sense. I cling to it. I hate hell, but it's familiar. The unknown-- the slim possibility that there might be something over the horizon for me-- is too terrifying to contemplate. Totally veered off topic there. I'm so sorry you're hurting, sweetie. I wish I could fix it. ((((((more hugs)))))))

Fuck that I had the first good dream that I've had in months and promptly forgot it as soon as the alarm went off. Fuck that the loneliness is killing me. Fuck every single person who tells me I have to keep going, it gets better, because it DOES NOT and it NEVER, NEVER will. Fuck my lousy defeatist attitude. Fuck my empty, broken heart straight to hell-- oh, wait, already there.

Welcome to the world, baby girl! (((Deedee)))

I'm pretty much in the same place. I was close to suicidal six months ago (had a plan and everything, though not a great one). That's passed now, I'm not going to do anything, but I have no interest in prolonging my existence. The really sad thing is that I'm 40, in better health than I've been in years (physically), and I absolutely hate that my life ended at 39. It's not fair. Sometimes I look in the mirror, and for the first time in years-- maybe the first time ever, to be honest-- I actually like what I see. And it's wasted, because I'm just waiting around to die.

Me too. All I can tell you is what I've been told over and over and over... it takes time. Lots of time. And it really does suck.

Thank you for that. Really. It's always been easier for me to be compassionate toward anyone who isn't me. I don't suppose I'll ever improve by beating the crap out of myself... hard habit to break, unfortunately. :-/

I think I shock some people with how matter-of-factly I can tell it now. Then I feel bad, thinking they think I must be a terrible uncaring person, just to lay it all out: "Yeah, my husband turned 40 and dropped dead three days later. Pulmonary embolism. It sucks." The price I pay for that casual announcement, though, generally comes minutes to hours later, when I lock myself in the bathroom or in my bedroom and sob until I can't breathe. People keep telling me it gets better. I hope so. Hugs to you...

I can't add anything inspiring, but lots of ((((((hugs)))))) to you...

I'm there as well-- I can almost convince myself that Jim was a dream I concocted to cope with the dysfunctional mess of my first marriage. The four and a half years we had have blurred and ran like a watercolor left in the rain. I have bits and pieces, and some of them make me smile, but right now I can't really recall our day-to-day life together. Or rather, I can recall what we did, but it's like watching a movie of someone else's life (and I know that phenomenon isn't unique to me)-- there are virtually no emotions attached. I've gone numb, except there's a constant ache... This is all so miserably confusing. Sometimes I wish I could just forget altogether, which is completely unworthy. He deserved so much better.

It still amazes me how many tears the human body can generate. I would have thought I'd be tapped out by now. Cry as many as you need. Hugs to you...

I feel so empty now, like there's nothing left of me... I'm just a ghost, haunting what's left of my life. It hurts too much to think of the past, and I have no discernible future-- there's just the here and now, and it's a virtual wasteland. I guess that's not entirely true... there are a few things, a few people. I suppose there's an infinitesimal chance there *might* be something else out there... all I can do is hang on, white-knuckled and desperate, until something shifts. But what if it never does? How long can a person last like this? Thank you for listening to me. I'm truly grateful that you're here. I wish I had more to offer right now...

I wish I had more to give... something concrete... but you've been in my thoughts (scattered and incoherent as they are). Sending more hugs from here, and hoping you're all right. <3

A lot of times I am bitter. I often feel sorry for myself, because it seems to me that no one else really does anymore, and, let's face it, all of us here really won the lottery from hell. My mother tells me I'm selfish for feeling the way I do, but I can't help it-- thus far I haven't been able to shove it in a box and stuff in away. I feel alone, I feel desolate, I feel abandoned. I don't know if I'll ever feel any different. That doesn't mean I'm not grateful for the support I've received. It certainly doesn't mean I curse every happy couple I see. My heart aches for what I'll never have. Maybe I wallow in self-pity, but at this point, I don't know how to do much else. Anyone who wants to judge me can feel free-- they can't judge me any more harshly than I judge myself.

...terrified today that there's no hope of this, either.

(((Brenda)))) I could've written this same post, just substituted my Jim's name. I have no idea how to socialize-- I never had to, I never wanted to. I don't really want to now... but the thought of spending the rest of my life alone is unbearable. I have no clue what to do, none at all. I have this community and a few dear souls who've supported me this far, but they all live in the computer. Sometimes I wonder if it's actually possible to die of loneliness...

I don't want to start a new thread in this section, since I've ostensibly "moved past" it, so forgive me piggybacking onto an old one... honestly, if I had one in the 0-6 board, I'd post there. I feel like I'm back at square one-- any progress I'd made is gone, wiped away. My heart hurts. I don't want to do this anymore. Other than my kids, I have exactly three things to live for right now. One will be done in 3 weeks; one comes at the end of June; the last comes in late July. After that-- nothing. Nothing. And right now I truly believe that nothing is all I will ever have. I can't do it. I'm sorry. I thought I had some hope of getting out of hell, but it's gone. Every day lasts at least 80 hours. I've tried everything I know, but nothing works. I've had a few brief respites, but mostly there's just pervasive sadness and a vast sucking emptiness that I can't fight anymore. I'm just done.

((((((MAUREEN)))))))

I am so, so sorry for your loss, and that you had to look for us... but this really is the best place to be. Keep talking; we're here, and we get it. Hugs to you, if you want them.

I hate that you all know exactly what I'm talking about, but I'm so grateful you're here listen. Hoping the quakes decrease and get less intense over time... (((((HUGS)))))

Do these strike you? You're going along, you're more or less okay, then something happens-- nothing of any consequence, something stupid like a post on Facebook or an innocent remark from somebody-- and suddenly you're immersed in acute grief. You can't really even point to a cause, a trigger-- you just hurt. It's like having a bucket of ice water dumped on you-- your lungs compress, you can't draw a full breath. The lump of lead where your heart used to be suddenly turns molten, and pain sears through you like lava. You want to scream, but you can't make a sound because you can't get any oxygen. Then the tears start, spilling down your face, burning your eyes and leaving hot salt tracks. When you finally do manage to breathe, you burst into loud, unlovely sobs-- the kind that leave you as wrung out as a wet dishcloth when they finally subside. The kind that can only come from a heart that is well and truly-- and possibly permanently-- shattered. They don't last long, these griefquakes. The fault shifts and closes before very long, which is a mercy. You're left wiping your eyes and wondering what in hell happened-- part of you is glad no one witnessed your breakdown, but the rest of you wishes desperately that there was someone to hold you and tell you everything will be all right. When there is no such person, you pick yourself up and out yourself together the best you can-- you take some deep breaths, you wash your face, and you go back to whatever it was you were doing before the quake hit, mask firmly in place. So off I go now...

((((Hugs)))) I'm so sorry. I can't imagine trying to process both devastating losses at once. This sucks.

(((((Jess))))) I don't know what it is about the 9-10 month thing, but I've become convinced that it's real. I was tripping along fairly well, then got sucked into the mire and floundered there for what felt like forever... I suppose I'm still there, which is a terrible, discouraging thing to say. I want to tell you it gets better, I really really do, but the truth is-- for me, anyway-- there's not much difference between 9 months and 12. Time is so slow anyway, it all feels like years and years since I wasn't smothered in sadness, since I felt safe and relatively happy, since I felt... real. I function, most of the time; I wear the mask and try to save my breakdowns for the shower (best place to cry) and bedtime. I have no idea how I'll keep this up over the months and years. I think the French say it best: Je suis d?sol?e, I am desolate. That's how I feel: desolated. Barren. Empty. Every day is another day closer to-- what? The end? Is that really all I have left? I hope not, but... I'll be honest, I haven't seen much evidence to the contrary. More hugs to you. Maybe one of these days we'll be able to look back and see how far we've come... be able to tell each other, "Wow, it really did get better." I hope so... I will say I'm proud of you, though. You're an inspiration to me, and I'm grateful to know you.

You and me both. ((((Hugs)))) No idea what I'll do when August rolls round, but I'm committed until then, at least.