Chuck it in the bucket

Well, life has been so weird right now that I would need a huge fuck it bucket to chuck all that is fuck-it worthy. It's not terrible awful like things have been in the past just annoying as shit awful and I just love to be annoyed.


I finally took a huge leap and decided to do something about my weight besides letting it slowly kill me. Now I am flipping out because well, slow suicide by fat was the only real plan I have ever had in life. Stuffing down my feelings with food has been my way of life since I was old enough to start saying I'm hungry and want more. My depression and my fat are best of friends. My weight keeps life at a short, fat, arm length. Not letting anyone or anything close enough to hurt me. Well, at least that is what I think happens. But in fact I still get very hurt and still don't understand humans or life or anything but hurt.


What will I do without fat to hide behind? I don't fucking know. I really don't know. I am really good at avoiding life and being overly passive so I will probably lose some weight, figure out how to cheat the system and cling to my old habits because change is so painful. Being fat is the only thing I know, my only coping mechanism. And there are times that I think it is my only choice.


I have such a huge support system of family and friends that really do love me and want me to be successful no matter what it is I choose to do. They want me to choose happiness and love and health. Even when it is not what I want to choose. If I had my choice I would stay in bed with the covers up over my head to keep out the monsters and just let what happens, happen. 


But I don't. You know people always say "don't give a shit what others think or what they say" or some crap like that. It's true, I am not going to argue it's validity but if it wasn't for people and their thinking and their feelings I wouldn't go on. I wouldn't be. I don't want to put anymore hurt out there in the world than there already is. I might not feel worthy of love or life but I don't want to purposely hurt those that love me.


And it's time like this that I miss Tony so damned much. He loved me, fat, crazy, sad and mean. He loved me in spite of me. It might not have been the healthiest marriage or love but it was always there. I took advantage of it. I ignored it. I didn't let it blossom because of the hurt or maybe it was the hurt that wouldn't let the love blossom. What kills me the most is we were working on things and the last month I had with him was one of the happiest I had in a long time. He seemed more at peace and I was more in tune to his needs. Even when he was in the hospital and I couldn't make any noise or turn on the light because he felt so bad and I was annoyed for a second it would go away and I would touch him, rub his legs or his back or just lay my hand on him. He loved gentle touches like that and I was stingy with them because of the hurt. Maybe the touches would have healed some of the hurt? I don't fucking know. All I know is now, right now at this second, I would stuff my fat ass on his lap and wrap my arms around his body and kiss his fuzzy head and I would never, ever let go.

Date, say what?

It's been 7 months since Tony died. Time to move the hell on. Oh hell, who am I kidding. I'm lonely and odd curious about dating. I am fascinated by the fact that I can date and talk/flirt with men. It's stupid and crazy really. I think it is just something to take my mind off what is really going on in my life. A new obsession, of sorts, and damn I suck at it.


Now, I haven't gone on any dates. Not sure that I will ever make it too that point to go on a date. I have only chatted with men through text or messenger and let me tell you it has been one crazy week. I was chatting with one man for around three weeks. I was suspicious of a few things and that helped me out. But the story goes he asked me for $1400. So yeah, can we say scam artist?


The other guy I have been texting. Well, I like him. I felt like he liked me right up to the point he asked my sister out!! Yeah. I know. Thank goodness she told me so I didn't get all wrapped up and hurt.


And my third chatter. Well, he thought seeing his mom naked was hot. And that was that.


So, I am going to tuck my tail between my legs and say "fuck it" and go lay in bed and feel sorry for myself.

Poor Widow's Brain

Well, FFS there is that word again. Widow. Widow, widow, widow. I said it, I typed it, I look at it, and I am it. And I am still pretty pissed off about it. It is not something I chose it was a title thrust, unfairly, upon me. While I don't love my new title of Widow, I refuse to shrink from it. It's the new me. It's my new life. I wear the pain of Widowhood and I will do so with dignity. As much dignity as I can muster when I am crying for no real reason other than I am having a day or when I have Widow Brain and can't remember what the hell I am doing.


Widow brain you ask? Yeah, Widow Brain. It's a very real thing. It occurs after a traumatic loss to protect the mind. It's like helpful amnesia. A protection of sorts.


 I thought right after Tony died that I finally had lost what was left of my mind. I knew I was doing weird shit and I couldn't help it. I couldn't string together a complete sentence and I sure the shit didn't know what I was doing. I would just walk away while people were talking to me. I couldn't concentrate and  I was dangerous to be around. I could only accomplish things that were automatic or routine and it was a hardship to accomplish those things. I am amazed at this time that I made it through those first weeks without a huge disaster but I did. Thankfully, I have wonderful family and friends that helped me through and continue to help me though.


It's seven months out and I still suffer from Widow's Brain. It's almost amusing at this point. I never really was someone who had their shit together on a good day. Now, oh hell, I am just a mess. I laugh at myself a lot because I do stupid shit. I still will just up and walk away when people are talking especially when I start getting upset or bored or look there's a squirrel. My memory is horrible. HORRIBLE. It wasn't good to begin with but it is bad now. I actually forget that I forgot something. At least before I knew I was forgetting. Now when I am in the laundry room looking around I am just like "fuck it" and sit back down. I figure I will eventually either remember what I was doing or smell smoke. Either way it will work out. I am still alive, mostly and other than a plant that died no one has been harmed.


I guess I really have no point to this blog today other than if you see me and you know I am lost please return me to someone who knows me. Don't ask me though if I know them because all you are going to get is a blank stare. And whatever you do, don't turn your back on me for a minute because I will wander off.

Days and weeks

Today as I sorta sorted through this massive pile of mail I have collected, I came across the last two bills you filled out to pay. The dates on these, oddly enough, medical bills is 10/13/13. You died 10/28/13. And you were sick in the hospital 2 weeks prior. So basically these fucking bills were the last thing you felt good enough to do prior to your death. And it makes me so fucking mad. And in case that doesn't cause enough grief and pain, I came across my insurance bill which now I am so clearly labeled widowed. Widowed at 40. How did this happen? Why did this happen?


I will have a few days or at one point it was even a week that I feel OK. Not great because I never feel great because I am a fucking Eeyore. But I will feel OK maybe like I will live through this and walk out the other side of this journey better and whole and healed. I don't really think that is how grief works. I think I will limp along waiting for someone to save me from drowning in this pain and when that doesn't happen I will still continue to limp along. I am good at limping along I have had a lifetime of practice.


I am not going to wax poetically about how great our marriage is/was or whatever because that is just bullshit and the world is full of enough bullshit without me adding to it. What I am going to say is we did tragedy and suffering well together. It was our "thing". The world knocked us down and by God, one of us pulled the other one up and we dusted ourselves off and we survived. We made it through my family's multiple screw-ups, the loss of friends and the year we lost Grandpa, Gran and Gertrud. But we always had each other. Now, I am alone and it sucks.


It's been 26 weeks and 3 days since you left me. I replay your illness and death over and over and over in my mind. I have a lot of anger. A whole hell of a lot of anger. I failed you. Medicine failed you. Ego's failed you and ignorance failed you. And I am sorry.

I want

I sit here with tears running down my face and that heaviness that hangs around my neck and runs up into my ears. It's a weird feeling, like I need to breath and can't or can breath but shouldn't. And I have this 100 pound weight on my shoulders and this pain under my right shoulder blade. I have social anxiety and at the same time a big case of the I Don't Give A Fuck. I feel like I have had a good day if I shower and make it to work. Luckily, I am on autopilot when it comes to showering and working because if it was any trouble at all, I just wouldn't screw around with it. I wouldn't do it. I couldn't do it right now. I have a tiny bit of I cans and a whole lot of I can't. My tolerance for anything stressful is low at best and days like these, well, no tolerance is an understatement.


I wake up dead and go to sleep awake. I never feel rested. I want to dream about you because I want to hear the sound of your voice, I want you to tell me it's going to be OK and that you love me. I have a whole fucking list of wants, I want to see your smiling face, I want to come home to you snoring softly in our bed. I want you to tell me goodnight and be safe. I want to call you when everyone is driving me crazy so you can tell me that we can't starve and we like electric. I want to cry on your shoulder and tell you how bad I hurt. I want you to go through this with me because we did tragedy well together.


I want to know you are OK. I want to know you are at peace. And I want you to know I love you and I miss you like crazy.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

I feel that my grief is an oddly beautiful thing. Beautiful in it's easy, graceful waves of hate, sadness, and emptiness. The way it washes up around me and embraces me in feelings so raw and bare that I can't tolerate the pain. Then retreats, waiting another moment to take my breath away, to bring back the tightness in my throat and the pain across my chest.

My hate, oh the hate. I have embraced you. Right now you and I are inseparable. If you see one of us the other is not far behind. I am so full of you, hate. I am so fucking mad. Mad at Tony. He wasn't supposed to leave me. This wasn't my life. This wasn't our life. We were working on things. We were getting our shit together. We were celebrating 20 years together. We were supposed to have a party. A big celebration of our life together and what happened?! Well, you left me. Hell, you left us. We all miss you. Instead of having that 20th anniversary, I planned your celebration. The celebration of life, what a fucking joke, we all know that I planned your funeral. Your goodbye. It's not how things were supposed to go and dammit, I hate.

Oh, sadness my oldest friend. You are here and in your glory. For once in my life I am allowed to fully embrace you. I am allowed to wallow in you. Sadness, you are part of what makes my grief so beautiful. The way you cover me and weigh me down. The way you show in my face and in my movements. The sound of you in my voice. Sadness, enjoy this time because you won't always be welcome. One day, sadness, you will be replaced.

Thankfulness, I got it

I am not good with mushy-happy-feel-good feelings. I am much better with hate, doom, gloom and humor that may or may not be appropriate at any time. November is the month of all that is thankful. I usually participate in the thankfulness posts on FB mostly because it annoys the shit out of people and to remind myself that I have a lot to be thankful for.

This year, well, it's not been a normal year. FFS I hope it's not a normal year, never, ever, never a normal year. Although, it's been 5 years ago that my grandma and my mother-in-law died right before thanksgiving. Apparently, November hates me.

Where am I going with this post? Well, I am dancing around it but I want to say that I am thankful. I am very thankful this month for odd things. I am thankful that things aren't worse. How can that be, say you? Well, I could be an uneducated mother of 5 who's husband just died and we didn't have life insurance. Instead of a young employed woman who's husband just died without life insurance. While my life is forever changed, I am not going to starve or have to worry about where my house payment is coming from. Things always can be worse, my most un-favorite saying of all time has become my mantra.

What else is getting my thanks? Well, for all the outpouring of love and kindness, even the hugs. I don't have the words to express how much it means to me. It has been overwhelming. Strangers, friends, and family have all shown me so much understanding and love. I just can't wrap my mind around it. And I am thankful for all of it.

Are you kidding me?

Are you kidding me has been a daily saying the past three weeks. It's bad enough that I have lost my husband. Lost my husband. Say that, think about it, lost my husband. What a dumb fucking thing to say. I lost my husband. You lose your keys or a pen. You don't lose a loved one but at the same time you can't say "my husband died". Or he's dead. It upsets people too much. It makes things too real. So I walk around saying trite shit like, he expired, or I lost, or he passed away and smile weakly and sigh and scream in my head " HE IS FUCKING DEAD DAMN YOU. DEAD".

I will never see him again. I will never hear I love you or I miss you or how was your day. I will never kiss or hold hands or touch him again. Who is going to fight dirty with me? Say all the mean, awful truths that one only knows from years of being together. Who's going to scrub my back and tuck me in. Who will love me when I can't love myself?

Going through this is just fucking awful. Awful. Nothing is easy, I can't take Tony off my medical insurance without filling out two packets of paperwork and even with that I had to write-in death. What a crazy thing. I was going to take him off the car insurance, nope can't do that because the car is in his name. Now I am not real sure of much these days but I don't think he is going to be driving real soon. And dammit if he seen driving is I say having car insurance is the least of my issues. Why is the world is all this so difficult? There is not many things in life that are for sure other than death. We are all going to die one day. Who makes all these decisions that makes simple things so difficult? Who the fuck is making these rules?