About Yesterday

It’s Day 8.

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But let’s revert a day, first. I said yesterday wasn’t weepy and it wasn’t. When I walked, I seemed to be walking faster. Not my up to my usual speed but an increase over the slow movements I’ve had since. I stood a little more upright. Not fully, but closer. While still unmistakably sad, I didn’t feel quite so harmed or abused. Perhaps a semblance of life leaked into the darkness. This apparent change arrived alongside new regret, of course, but mostly there was curiosity. I’ve never been here before. I don’t know the lay of the land, or how one travels across it. I don’t know the timeframe, either.

The guilt was also mitigated by the understanding that more pain will come. That my emotions will rebound, again, to the other stages of grief. They may be passing visitors, but they’ll return, uninvited and armed.

And late last night, they did.

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I left this Starbucks earlier than planned after doing some work and writing that post. I didn’t want to go straight home, but my hip hurt, so I did anyway. I arrived ahead of my estimate and with some energy remaining. That concerned me.

Laying in bed with nothing to do, I started to think. And the pain that followed, the tears that came from somewhere extremely deep, existentially deep, hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. I sat up, because laying down was worse. And I folded in half. I cried for about 30 minutes more intensely than I ever have. I felt emptier, more alone, more scared, more desperate, and in more agony than I thought was possible.

In a week-plus of bad days and terrible nights, I had the worst night of my life. The pain has lingered all day. The total depletion of energy has, too. Today was as bad as any day I’ve had since he died. It’s one of the worst days I’ve ever had. I feel alone, beaten, depleted, destroyed. I have neither energy nor appetite. I feel crippled.

Last night hurt so bad that if I knew who to call, I would’ve called them. If I knew what to do or where to go, I would’ve done it. And it seemed so hopeless that, were I suicidal, I would’ve ended it.

I don’t know much, but I know I won’t survive another one of those. Especially now; especially after.

If it happens again tonight, I don’t see how the same distance can be traversed: it would travel beyond the seafloor. And I can’t imagine life exists there.

I feel like irreparable harm was done. Whatever follows last night will be different because of it. I don’t see how I’ll ever forget it. Or recover from it.

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When I first got married, my wife had two cats, an asshole and an adorable, talkative kitten. The older one was ultimately hit by a car and killed. I worried about the effect this would have on the younger one. She was youthful and fun, energetic and friendly, and she talked so much I would have minutes-long conversations with her. I worried that his death would change her. That she’d slow down, sleep more, grow older earlier than nature intended. Now I feel that way about me.

Last night was damaging, but what will the longterm effects be? Will it merely be impactful? Will time paper over most of the damage? Will the scar tissue fade as I age, visible but fainter? Or will the effect be grander? It’s much too soon to tell. Likely the damage will continue to come, the wounds continue to be forced open. I don’t know how much more of that I can take.

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I couldn’t think of what to do last night. I sent some messages, frank messages, to my sister, who means well. But the idea was ineffective. Ultimately, I decided to write a long note to a friend who no longer responds. Because I didn’t know what else to do, and maybe talking, even one-sided talking, would seem enough like conversation that it would occupy me. It would pass the time while my batteries continued to drain.

I don’t think it helped, but it did allow me to focus on something slightly different. To make points that were unmade. To explain. And, ultimately, I became so tired that I could lay my head onto my pillow. And sleep.

終