Seven Long Days Quickly

It’s been a week. A god damned week.

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Today, wasn’t so weepy. Just sad, and numb.

Since I don’t know what my emotional equilibrium will look like, I don’t know if I’m there. I assume not. It’s only been a week. I still feel the tears just under the surface, and my eyes still well-up at the slightest push. The sadness remains. But some of the shock seems to have faded. Or the numbness has increased. Or neither, and tomorrow will also be awful.

I dunno how I feel about this, mainly because I don’t know what this is. It’s probably too soon to tell. The pain (crushing, overpowering) feels, in a way, needed. Like it confirms that I love him. In a way I can’t describe. Whereas depressed numbness, with the occasional flash to near-tears, just feels inept. I’m not sure how to describe that, either.

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Today, I didn’t eat much, but I did eat more. Because the weight loss is the only positive aspect of this, and I’ve always had an unhealthy relationship with food, I don’t mind the non-eating. Hunger, for the most part, isn’t evident. Or the hunger is, by my appetite isn’t. And the weight loss does feel like a reward for – the only benefit of – going through this.

As life normalizes, I’ll probably keep up the slight intake of food. At least until it starts to visibly harm me. I mean, what’s the worst case – I die? Seems like that would stop the pain and end the guilt. I’m kinda okay with that, scary as death is. And it’s a passive kind of suicide I can get behind. The only downside is I’ll have to buy some new clothes in the meantime, but maybe only for a little while.

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I’ve returned to my always-podcasts-while-walking habit. This passes the time and fills in the quiet. I’m not sure this is a good idea. As I walk home later tonight, I’ll do so quietly. I’ll see how that goes.

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Last night, I fell asleep again around 7 am. Woke up for reasons I can’t recall at 9 or so. Perhaps I got a message. I considered getting up. When the thinking starts, it brings pain. If I’m up, I’m occupied. Instead, I quickly fell back to sleep and woke up almost three hours later – at about 11:50. Just shy of 5 hours total. That seems to be the way things are shaking out.

I know that, at some point, I’ll actually sleep again. Especially when the mourning starts to resemble typical depression. But now, the being tired lessens the amount of energy that can come out of me in crying sessions that are so deep and wearing that I’m not sure I’ll come out of them. My thinking is, if I’m rested, they might come back. I’d rather be tired.

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The only really productive thing I did today is this: I washed some clothes. There was no choice. I was running out of things to wear.

My inability to do things related to the future continues. I’m just sitting in my extremely tiny bedroom, mostly doing nothing. I keep thinking I can organize my things, make it easier for whoever has to throw them away, or give them to my family, if it comes to that. But the idea of cleaning, which is a kind of expectation of future days, is just too sensitive.

Why clean?
Because you have a life to live.
It’s too soon for that.
It always will be.

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It’s been a week.

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