what is wrong with me?

i do not know what is wrong with me,

but something has to be wrong.

i'm not getting with the program.

i'm not moving on.

i miss him immensely.  i wish he were here.

i wish i were stronger inside.

i wish i wasn't so scared.

i am upset with myself.

i don't know how to fix this.

i try so hard to do everything correctly;

do what is expected of me.

i am working very focused on being what i am supposed to be.

but i cannot lie.

i am not happy.

i am not content.

in fact, i am miserable.

i am scared and worried and filled with anxiety.

i am deathly worried about money,

still, 

again.

right now i have to wait 3 months for health care with this new job,

but at least i have a new job.

the pay is less but at least i will have income.

so why am i so miserable.

no, it's not bears anymore.

i sell shoes.

and if i thought they could be unreasonable about bears

they are psycho about shoes.

beyond my fears of life,

as for searching for that happiness thing i have tried to promise myself,

i am failing.

i feel numb inside.

i feel insincere when i smile.

it's tired and fake.

but i manage it for a paycheck.

i keep it all inside until i get back here.

i am failing my children though.

they want me to be happy.

i lie but they can see that i am depressed.

i am too exhausted to do anything but sleep on my days off.

8 hour shifts.  hour + drive to and from work.

i am exhausted.

and i pay my bills but i have little left over for food.

i need the left over funds for gas to get to work and meds.

what is wrong with me that i cannot get on board with this new life?

i am lonely.  i miss talking to him.

i do not have friends.  i do not have the time.

and yet, i would really like to have someone to talk to.

i cry a lot on that hour + drive to and from work.

it's a long haul and takes so much gas.

it's a lonely drive way out there, to another town.

4 towns over.

one more week of that training and then,

i will be sent to another store.

only 40 minutes away, 5 minutes further away than Northlake

where i used to work.

i hate the idea

of always finding jobs

that want me in stores

that are so freakin' far away.

i wish i could find something where i could sit down

and work and make money

and be given health care

and it's only 10 minutes away.

i read about other widows who are getting along just fine;

in fact they are thriving.

they plan trips, go out with friends, date, get married again,

set up big foundations and become renowned as humanitarians

saviors,

put on pedestals

have people come to them sobbing saying, "you've saved me."

"shown me how to live."

they take tragedy and turn it into livelihood

into something so grand and honorable

while i have done nothing but try to write away my pain

and i've gotten

nowhere.

these women are living.

they truly live.

they are thriving,

not just merely existing,

like me.

i am not living at all.  i am struggling.

i am merely trying to survive.

and i think it's too much to ask life

to let me enjoy some small part of it again.

is it the money thing?

is it the feeling of safety?

of knowing they have a place to live and friends, support around them?

is it knowing, the confidence of being able to go to get food,

any amount of food they want at any time that makes life so much more bareable?

would having those things make it more bearable to me?

would this pain i am trying to write away right now vanish were i to have

enough to live on?

am i an ungrateful wretch for wanting that?

i should just be grateful for a job

that pays and gives health care; and i am.

i should just be grateful that that is all i have.

barely enough is as good as any feast, right?

but my dreams... my fantasies....

in them i have so much more.

nothing crazy, just a small cottage by the sea.

a place for my dogs and me to be free,

and safe.

what is wrong with me that i want these things?

am i that arrogant and selfish?

freedom from worry and anxiety.

i just want to have enough to eat and be safe.

i'd like to have him back.

i'd like to have a touch more than barely enough to get by.

such an arrogant shit i am.

what is wrong with me?

i dream in color

this is me at 4 months out.  soft little face.  yet so scared. 

 

this is me 3 and a half years out.

see that furry face?  little bit more careworn.

see those eyes?  "so much pain my dazzled eyes refused to see."

reality hits me ~ again and again and again.........

it's hard doing this sort of alone.  i'm not alone alone.  i have my two children.  i do hold close to my broken spirit every comment written here.  but i am still thinking it might be a good idea to try again to find someone to talk to.  you know, try again for a grief counselor.  but what would she say to me?

"girl, it's been 3 years and you're just now getting around to finding some help with this?"

i'd have to say, "ma'am, it's bee 3 plus years of searching for someone who will effing listen to me and not bleed me dry of something i have, something i can do.  to simply do the job of a grief counselor and not let me down.  please, just listen to me.

i don't know if i'll ever have that.  looking into the money aspect of it.

i seem to whine a lot, but this blog is my only outlet to whine. otherwise i keep it inside.  i have to do the "primal scream" thing to get some of it out.  here, i can.  i'm so closed off from the world.  i do not reveal anything to anyone who knows me simply because they are not friends.  the only people i know are the people i work with.

i try to help myself.  i look to my dogs for the way to enjoy life.  

 like Scootie Wootums enjoying sniffing all the sniffs that cram into his nose while his head is stuck out the window. 

 i dream/create fantasies of a different life.  my happy place.  my serene calm place where i am not here.  i am somewhere else, with him, my children, all together truly living each day and reveling in all that the world has.

 i remember all the places i did live where i felt home.  i developed an attachment to a place and will never forget living there.  i can go there in my mind and breathe.

 i am so much more fragile than i ever was.  is it age?  or grief?  is it feeling so vulnerable, or so adrift?  and yet, i feel surges of strength when i am threatened.

"how dare you try and hurt me?"  "how dare you try and take what little i have left?"

i dream in color.  my things are old and solid and loyal and enduring.

i dream in color.   i value and respect the things that last like love and memories.

i dream in color.  i do not seek more material possessions but only add things like books {words}, moments of calmness, and the continued search for peace in this life.

i may see things in black and white; facing the reality that life shoves down my throat day-after-day,

but i dream in color.

fair / unfair / c'est la vie

c'est la vie.  isn't that what they say when life hands you troubles?  

such is life.  life isn't fair.

we learned that in kindergarten.  someone takes your sandwich.  someone tears up your drawing.  someone makes fun of you when you fall down and skin your knee.

and no one does anything about it.

such is life.  life isn't fair.

i've had a run of bad luck, or just a run of "life."  some good things have happened.  some bad things have happened.  a lot of bad things.

is it fair that i have a part time manager who lies on her time sheet; who gets paid for upwards of 15 - 20 minutes of work when she wasn't there yet?  how does she do it?  when she opens, she is there at the last minute.  2 minutes before the store opens.  when the next manager doing the close shift comes in, she claims she didn't get clocked in and would we do it.  i've called more than once, 20 minutes before, 15, 10, and finally 3 minutes before and she doesn't answer.  or she has called me a few minutes after open asking for computer help opening the store.  by the time the doors are open, those registers should be open.  the other part time manager asked me if i was suspicious.  we both just nodded our heads in agreement.  she's cheating.  nothing we can do about it without causing a HUGE deal over it.  very political stuff involved with her and who this girl is dating.

is this fair?  no.

i was deathly afraid of my mother and father all my growing up years.  

is this fair?  no, but my childhood could have been worse.  much worse.  

i was afraid of my first husband.  is this fair?  no.  but they don't have "and they lived happily ever after" in the marriage vows.  and vows, for some people, mean nothing.

i retreat sometimes to my mind.  i go to a place in my mind where i create an environment that makes me calm and at peace.

like the photo below.  i could lay there and listen to the water, the gulls, feel the breeze, and relax.

 is it fair that i had bought my clutch for my old car and called around only to get horrible men tell me horrible things like, "let me talk to your man."  or "lady, this is the best price around so if you want it, book it, otherwise stop wasting my time."  to "drop off the car, i'll take a look at it and let you know. Enterprise can pick you up.  they have great weekly deals.  we'll get to your car when we get to it."  

rudeness.  lots of rudeness.  lots of terrible customer service from ads of places that say, "100% customer satisfaction."  is this fair?  no.  is it done every day?  yes.

the badness i wrote about was about my dogs.  my beautiful little dogs.  my friends.

the lady downstairs complained.  she's almost 90 and she likes to sleep before she goes to bed.  when i work at night, sometimes, my dogs will bark.  they are afraid of the dark and they look outside waiting for me and will see a cat, or a person walking their dog, or hear a noise and it will scare them.  and, mostly Carmen Sophia, will bark for a bit.  it scared me so bad.  i cannot lose them.  i cannot afford to move.  even if i moved, it could be from the frying pan into the fire.  

spiral down.  i spiraled down into an abyss that was hard to get up from.

 only darkness in front of me.  my little dogs.  

i panicked.  i went into a full-fledged hyperventilating panic attack.  how could i fix this?  what could i do to save my dogs?  i put their thunder shirts on them before i left.  i kept the tv on and all the lights on.  i blocked the sliding glass window and the small window in the bedroom.  and i gave them benadryl to make them calm.  so far it has worked.

but to make sure i also ordered a dog silencer machine that puts out a sound that humans can't hear but dogs can when they bark.  it is an annoyance to them and trains them not to nuisance bark.  i feel a little bit better about it.  but i still carry the scars of the panic and i still carry the worry that it will all change back and someone will try to take my dogs away again.

i'm scarred.   was it fair?  no, but then it isn't fair that the little old lady downstairs had her sleep interrupted by two scared little scotties. 

i sometimes wonder how i can continue to live like this; live so very scared all the time.  i never really rest unless i force myself to go to that place in my mind where i know i would be happy.

it would be a stone house beside the ocean.  my two little dogs and i would be safe.  no one would/could threaten us.  i go there and design my home in my mind.  i plan the gardens.  i put up photos and lay quilts on the sofas and beds.  there are alcoves for reading and resting.  there is a warm, cozy kitchen to make small meals in.  my dogs and i would be safe.

safe is all i want.  safe with no one trying to change my life, make me give up things, take from me.

funny thing, in my dreams, i don't have any friends.  i am alone with my dogs.

but i am back with him.  or he is back with me.

and there is no fair or not fair.  there is just home.

but it's all a dream and i know it.

i need my dreams.  i need that safe place to go to where things go right.  i need my "home" and my dogs right with me.  i need the ocean and the coming Fall and Winter where we stayed close to home and took care of each other.   fire in the wood stove.  stew cooking.  mulled cider in a cup.  books to read on the sofa where we piled together.  all of us.  man.  woman.  and two little dogs.

happened once.  never to happen again.  c'est la vie.

but life cannot take the memories from me nor can it take my dreams.

if i can still shut out the world and dream, make up my fantasies, then i still have the strength to get up and fight against the bad things that happen that make me say,

"son of a bitch!  what the f***!  what more do you effing want from me!?"

and yes,

"c'est la vie."

anachronism

there it is. just one line up from these words. i keep dreaming of it. looking at photos of it. my world. my home. where i walked with him. where i was happy. where i had a smidgen of peace.

the most beautiful place on earth, as far as i know. which is not much. i have been very few places. can count them on one hand. i have never had the chance to travel. but i got to live here. Whale Cove. Rockport, MA. so raw and austere. so windy. so cold in the winters. so powerfully alive in the summers.

i miss it. i dream of it. i fantasize of it. all with him there.

i had a nightmare last night. horrendous. i will not sully your sensibilities with the story line. suffice to say, it was heartbreaking, blood-curdling, and one that i could not return to sleep from.

and i had no one to tell. no one i would call to tell of this dream to. i know a woman who has said i can call her. i do not. it is my fears that keep me from doing this. my fault. mea culpa. i think it stems from the fact that i keep watching people walk away from me very easily.

they are busy. they are bored. they have nothing they want from me at that time. or worse, they do not want anything more from me again because i have done all that they have asked. like a tramp i have quickly given to them all they asked for hoping they would like me.

my life has never made enough of an impression for anyone to stick by me.......except him.

i am an anachronism. i think i am a widow from the old days. i am obviously alone. obviously sad. obviously still so very much in love with my Dragon. so very much in pain. 2 1/2 years out and i still suffer so. no desires in the nether regions ~ except for missing his touch. no desires for companionship except from maybe a friend who does not want anything from me; who would listen to me talk for once.

i miss my grief friend to whom i wrote. bless her heart. her life has taken a turn for the worse so i feel terrible missing her for my own benefit, for me to be able to talk to someone. too many times i've tried to talk, to find someone to listen, but no one lasts. no one stays. no one, well, just no one for me.

i am an anachronism. the world and society and expectations of widows make me what? ashamed of myself? not really worried about myself. i just see that i am out of step. i am on my own very, very different path. i have no money. we were living to pay off debt from my divorce. i got nothing. no, that's wrong. i got my children. we gave them college. i had my Dragon and he had me.

i fell hard when he died. for many months i lay there looking up at the sky, the clouds; laying on that ground feeling each and every rock digging into my back. but i was so numb to it. i had lost my Dragon. my beloved. the only man i will ever want.

i remember a widow from that first group i met at that church. "how can you live alone? i moved into my parents' house, fortunately they live down the street, the day of the funeral. lived there for the first 18 months until i started dating again, and now i'm getting married and will move back into my house with my kids and my new husband. how can you live alone? you should date. you need to find another man so you aren't alone."

an anachronism. widows that i remember from my childhood were alone. they seldom dated again unless they were really young. really young. but my age? they were married to their dead husband's for life. no one questioned them. no one told them to get up, get back out there, and not be alone.

"date. have sex. get married again." i can't. not yet? probably never. he is it for me.

an anachronism. i remember widows who cried occasionally at church. even after years of widowhood. their other widowed friends gathered them into their arms and comforted them. no one told them they were being ridiculous. no one told them they needed to get over it. there were the nods from others who were so sympathetic to their losses. "bless her heart. they were such a lovely couple. so devoted." "bless her heart. we should send her flowers. we should invite her out to the cafeteria some afternoon for an early supper." "bless her heart."

i wish people would think of me that way. bless my heart. bless my poor, aching heart. i miss him. we were a lovely, devoted couple. bless my heart. my handsome Dragon and his odd little Bunny of a wife. such a lovely couple.

i do things. i am living a little, doing more than merely existing. i work very, very hard. i give of myself to everyone. too much of myself. i bend over backwards and lay down and let people walk on me, and then past me, and then far away from me. i struggle up and all i see is their backs, getting smaller and smaller. and then they are out of sight.

if you had known me with him, and then saw me now, you would not recognize me. i am smaller somehow. i am quieter. and that is a shocking statement as i was very quiet before. but not with him. never with him. he wouldn't let me. unless i was writing, or painting, or making stained glass, or sewing, or taking photos......you get the idea. he would not let me be afraid to speak. gently, oh, so gently, he encouraged me to talk. how? by asking questions. he'd ask. he'd engage me in conversation. never was i allowed to talk as i was with him. never have i been allowed to talk since, not as i got to do with him.

i miss him. a darkness has fallen around my life that i am getting used to. quiet life. rise and then work. and then bed. talk at the store. do not talk back at the apartment. very quiet Bunny. you only think of her as gregarious because she is such a wordsmith.
my life, i think, will be spent living on the edge of this dusk looking back at the light that was in my life when he was alive. but i am closer to the darkness than he ever allowed have happen to me. ever in his arms, i was safe; in the light; in the warmth of his love and devotion.

i am an anachronism. if widow's weeds were still worn, i would be wearing them, still, after 2 1/2 years. it's just now, people would be disgusted. not like they were before, during the dark ages, back when i was a child. that was a time when people seemed to, if they did not understand that kind of loss yet, they were still very much more forgiving of widows and their tears, and their particular kind of grief.

i miss you, Dragon. i still cry for you. i still love you. i always will because i am a widow out of step with this world. and i really do not give a flying fuck about doing anything about it.