As I mentioned in a previous post I have finally taken steps to combat my ADHD by starting a new medication. So far everything has been fine but the last two mornings I have woken up with immense anxiety. Both starting from very, very vivid dreams. Yesterday it was one about my mother at the peak of her Alzheimer’s. I woke up having (what I imagine was) an intense panic attack from this feeling of “impending doom.” The only way I could calm myself down was to reassure myself, in my husband’s voice, that everything was going to be okay. Luckily it worked.

This morning I woke up again with anxiety. This time as a swirling ball of acid in my gut. Again after a very, very vivid dream. This one was about my cousin whom I no longer speak to. We had once been close, I thought, but when I understood that was all fake I just cut her off.

I am sure I do this too frequently, (maybe it’s the Scorpio in me) but it’s something I just have to do. Ultimately I have boiled it down to: I have too high of expectations on what I think family means. So, for mine and their own sanities I’d rather just remove myself from the situation entirely.

It’s drastic but… I’d rather be alone, than hold expectations that will inevitably leave me disappointed.

My husband and I were once very close to this cousin. I do very much love her and wish her the best but… she’s a liar. She may not think so (and possibly she isn’t), but for me she kept secrets and made excuses to cover up things. When I realized what was going on, I cut her off.

It started off with her being a secret Republican. (A trump voting Republican I should add. Vom.) She would complain about living California. It’s “too expensive” she said. Yeah! You live in the Bay Area. The fuck did you think it would cost in the most desirable area imaginable? So she said they wanted to move to Oregon or Arizona. At the time I took it for face value, but have since realized that these are code for “we want a red state.”

The second clue was whenever my husband and I would visit them, her husband would just disappear. I never understood that. I often wondered if he didn’t like us, it wasn’t that. It was to avoid talking politics because he, clearly, is a Republican. And so is she. I even remember making a remark about Trump in the early-early days of him running and she grabbed his hand and made eye contact as if to say “don’t say anything.”

Now there was nothing wrong with that at one time. Other than they’re voting against their best interest (and most Republican policy directly targets and hurts my community) but whatever.

Inevitably I ended our relationship because of the obvious lying. Once I finally put the pieces together that is.

It has since given me the weirdest PTSD where now I am sincerely and deeply paranoid that every close family member or friend is a secret Republican. If she could lie to my face and excuse things away for her husband and friends with lies, then why wouldn’t others? So, I genuinely start to panic that the people I love are and I cannot deal with that. She and most reds won’t understand that concept.

What ultimately pulled the trigger for ending the relationship was when she didn’t go to my mom’s funeral. She told me that they “weren’t going to be able to make it” (day of I might add) and then her mom swooped in with some bs about her being sick. And maybe that was the case but why not tell me that? Why get your mom in on this?

I’m probably making the wrong move but… The PTSD it gave me is sincerely real. I know how ridiculous that sounds but… it genuinely causes me distress. All because of her lying to me and the lengths she would take to do it! I will continue to stand my ground. (Oh the irony.) Ultimately, we have nothing in common other than that we share DNA.

Yesterday I went to a Cracker Barrel (one of my favorite establishments) to work on my Chapter 13. For whatever reason, out of the corner of my eye, I caught the date on my watch. It hit me that the next day (today) would be exactly two months since my husband passed away. It was quite coincidence as I was literally there to work on a part of the chapter that would be introducing a new character into the narrative, who I decided to model after my husband.

I chose to put him in as a someone who has never once set foot into the story until yesterday.

I had realized on our writing road-trip (where I forced the inhabitants of the car to listen to my novel) that after a particularly scarring piece of the story it would be logical of my character to seek professional help. I knew from then that I needed to add that but have drug my feet since on getting anything written.

That all changed yesterday.

I was proud of myself. Even with the medication apathy I had been feeling an hour earlier, it all seemed to dissipate as I drowned out the sounds of diners and the 90’s country playing on the overhead speakers. I was determined and found myself curious where the story was going to take me; where my husband was going to take me.

When I had finished, I returned to my office to transpose it into my word document and it was then that I began to really, really miss my husband. In this piece I felt as though I had truly captured his essence. He would have made a wonderful therapist. He had this uncanny ability to sift through someone’s bullshit story to find the truth. The ember that started their “fire.” He did it to me all the time. I hated it. But it was because of this that he helped bring out the best of me.

Two months later the pain is less so. Sometimes I feel like a monster, that I am mostly fine with him being gone.

“Did he mean nothing to you?” I ask myself.

When I voice this fear I have had people tell me I had 4 years to grieve. It wasn’t like it was a surprise. We literally picked the day, for Swiftsake.

He would joke that I would move on the next day and find another partner. I don’t know if he did that to manipulate me into not even dating again or what… I know he was joking. However there is always a kernel of truth in a joke. He was so insecure. He thought he was so easily replaceable and he isn’t. No one will ever replace him in my life/heart. Ever.

Sometimes I genuinely feel sorry for Josh or any others that ever do come into my life, because they will forever live in his shadow.

A shadow which I still talk to, and say I miss everyday. Genuinely, everyday.

I like to pretend that he took over for my unborn brother as “my guardian angel.” At times I feel his presence around me. Especially when we’re in the car. I will not hesitate to turn “to him” and talk as though he is there.

People do the strangest things in grief.

I have no content going into this, other than the fact that this morning I woke up missing my husband more than I have yet so far. I had a dream wherein he, tony, josh, and myself all went to see a movie in some “famous” theater. We didn’t even know what we were signing up to see but we went regardless as part of his “seeing it all before he dies” attitude. Josh and Tony sat nearby but not next to us. He and I took a spot kind of off to the side (because of his power chair) and we were at an odd angle from the screen.

Nothing else happened in the dream, regarding him. He could have almost been seen as a prop more than an actual presence. What I think triggered me was the inclusion of one of his friends there to visit him one more time before he passed away. I hugged the friend in the dream and then woke up. Dread cut through my chest like a bolt of fire. I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to move. I just wanted to cry. For the first time I missed my husband more than I have yet. And each day I say, multiple times to myself, that I really, really miss him.

Lately I have been lost, trying to find what my life looks like without him in it. What is the new “normal?”

I’m trying to find it. Truly. I bought Disneyland annual passes to recreate my sense of adventure before he was ever diagnosed, and before the literal world fell apart with covid. That felt hollow and I ended up spending entirely too much money. I ended up feeling more guilty and annoyed than anything.

I’ve thought about going into theatre again, but I don’t have the energy to do it. Plus, they moved the one theatre I could participate in (I kind of ruined my chances with the other ones…) to the other side of town. Any show I could get a part in would require months of rehearsal… I’m not interested.

That’s the problem… I lack interest.

This past weekend I entered into one of my favorite writing competitions, the NY Midnight Flash Fiction. It cost $65 to participate but I like the challenge and the risk of wining the prize. I’ve only once made it to round 3, where I ultimately didn’t place in the top 3 to win a prize. This most recent one… I had to force myself to do it or risk having wasted the entry fee. In the end I pumped out a fun little story that made me laugh… I don’t know how it’ll go over with the judges. It was super “meta” as the kids would say. It was also mildly insulting if viewed through a particular lens, and on top of all that I didn’t do the assignment specifically stated in the assignment instructions. We’ll see how it goes…

All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep. I don’t want to go anywhere or do anything. Yet I can’t. I have to keep going.