A Case Of The Mondays?

I am completely done in.  Tired.  Overwhelmed.  Discouraged.  Angry.  Sad.  Frustrated.  Lonely.  All of it.  I felt this way last week, too, and just stewed in it.  Tonight, I do not have the luxury of stewing.  I have chores to do.  My dogs are being too energetic for me.  I want everything to just slow down . . . or better yet, stop for a few moments so I could think.  Maybe I had too busy of a weekend, not enough time for reflection, though it was certainly more pleasantly spent than the ones where I stay by myself and see no one and just feel sorry for myself.  It seems like maybe working is . . . somehow too much.

This is not to say I had a particularly bad day at work.  It wasn’t bad.  I keep to myself in my cubicle.  I have nice coworkers who say hi and check on me from time to time.  I am not yet seeing or talking to clients (will be back to that next week).  I am basically just doing data entry right now for stuff that did not convert from the old computer system to the new.  I don’t think it could be any easier for me.  And yet . . . I come home exhausted, depleted, used-up, and full of gloom. 

What frightens me is that if this is how I am feeling now, what will it be like when I go back to full time?  I am steadily increasing my hours each week . . . and I can feel it.  I don’t have as much time to take care of the long neglected stuff around the house or the everyday chores, let alone my own grief.  I don’t have time to process my own feelings.  Worst of all, I don’t feel like I am relaxing at all because there is no longer the time to read or write or watch anything.  Again, if it already feels like this, how will it be in a few weeks when I am back up to 40 hours a week on the job?

I am annoyed tonight because my dogs are being so needy.  They were alone in the house for six and a half hours today.  This was not an especially long time and I even took them on the 2-mile hill walk before work.  Yet, when I got home, they were full of energy and wanting to go for another walk (I have not taken them) and just needing me to touch them and talk to them and feed them and . . . I don’t know, do stuff with them.  I just DON’T have it in me right now.  I am worn out.  I don’t want to play or walk or do anything.  I have chores to take care of before I can rest.  I would really like someone to come in here and take care of me for a change. 

When they were younger gals, the dogs used to spend 8-10 hours in the house alone.  Now, Ru is on meds for her autoimmune disease that make her drink more, and drinking more leads to peeing more, so the math says I cannot leave them that long.  Neither has ever had an accident, but it is too hard on their little bodies to hold it and Ru is prone to kidney and bladder infections.  Anyways, this week of work, being gone from the house for 6 hours or so per day, is about the longest I can leave them inside for days in a row without expecting medical complications and vet bills. 

Over the weekend, Dustin and Carrie helped me install a solar powered electric fence inside the perimeter of their very large and awesome dog pen.  I had really hoped this would do the trick to keep them from digging out, chewing through, and jumping over the existing fencing (which worked for several years until one day they just started leaving by any means possible).  I took them out tonight to train with it.  They touched the wire.  They did not yelp.  They ran through one of their chewed holes, ducking under the wire.  I threw my hands up in despair and discouragement.  I said, “I hate these dogs,” which we know could not be further from the truth, but they are really testing me tonight.

I called Dustin and he will come help me tomorrow to repair the holes and then we can see what happens if they have to spend more time touching the wire . . . like, long enough to realize it is hot and that they should just be happy and stay inside their fence.  I am glad he will help me, but I also HATE asking for help.  I already utilized his and Carrie’s help over the weekend, as well as all the time.  I hate that I cannot just take care of things on my own.  But, as mentioned, I am also becoming increasingly overwhelmed the more hours I am working while also trying to deal with the house/dog stuff and my own grief.

I try to be gentle on myself.  To allow myself the time and space I need to just be sad.  To not expect everything to be as efficiently run as it was before Ron got sick.  I try . . . I do not seem to be succeeding. 

I am chalking tonight up as a loss.   I am so discouraged.  And I hate how I have handled myself tonight (yelling and swearing at the dogs, staying inside when it was such a pleasant evening, trying to find ways not to need/accept Dustin’s help, etc).  I just wish I could talk to Ron.  The worst thing is not feeling like I am receiving support from him.  He thought I was fantastic.  He gave me hope and confidence and unconditional love.  Without him, I just want to give up.  I really do. 

I will write to him about my day.  I will try to make myself feel happier before bed by reading our old correspondences and embarking on a little slice more of the giant photo project I am working on.  I will get myself just OK enough to where I can drift into my benzodiazepine-induced sleep.  The thought of trying again (at work, at home, at receiving help, at life, etc) tomorrow terrifies me, so I will not even go there.  I am just going to concentrate on getting through tonight and practicing loving kindness with these very needy dogs who, for some odd reason, just won’t leave me alone.

In parting, I want to share something that my friend Lisa shared with me today.  This puts into words exactly how things are for me right now and exactly what would be helpful from others.  Please read it and know that all of it is true to the very core of my being. 

"How You Can Help Me"

Please talk about my loved one, even though he is gone. It is more comforting to cry than to pretend that he never existed. I need to talk about him, and I need to do it over and over.

Be patient with my agitation. Nothing feels secure in my world. Get comfortable with my crying. Sadness hits me in waves, and I never know when my tears may flow. Just sit with me in silence and hold my hand.

Don't abandon me with the excuse that you don't want to upset me. You can't catch my grief. My world is painful, and when you are too afraid to call me or visit or say anything, you isolate me at a time when I most need to be cared about. If you don't know what to say, just come over, give me a hug or touch my arm, and gently say, "I'm sorry." You can even say, "I just don't know what to say, but I care, and want you to know that."

Just because I look good does not mean that I feel good. Ask me how I feel only if you really have time to find out.

I am not strong. I'm just numb. When you tell me I am strong, I feel that you don't see me. I will not recover. This is not a cold or the flu. I'm not sick. I'm grieving and that's different. My grieving may only begin 6 months after my loved one's death. Don't think that I will be over it in a year. For I am not only grieving his death, but also the person I was when I was with him, the life that we shared, the plans we had, the places we will never get to go together, and the hopes and dreams that will never come true. My whole world has crumbled and I will never be the same.

I will not always be grieving as intensely, but I will never forget my loved one and rather than recover, I want to incorporate his life and love into the rest of my life. He is a part of me and always will be, and sometimes I will remember him with joy and other times with a tear. Both are okay.

I don't have to accept the death. Yes, I have to understand that it has happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are just not acceptable.

When you tell me what I should be doing, then I feel even more lost and alone. I feel badly enough that my loved one is dead, so please don't make it worse by telling me I'm not doing this right. And remember, I was a capable adult before his death and I still am.

Please don't tell me I can find someone else or that I need to start dating again. I may not be ready. And maybe I don't want to be. And besides, what makes you think people are replaceable? They aren't. Whoever comes after will always be someone different.

I don't even understand what you mean when you say, "You've got to get on with your life." My life is going on, I've been forced to take on many new responsibilities and roles. It may not look the way you think it should. This will take time and I will never be my old self again. So please, just love me as I am today, and know that with your love and support, the joy will slowly return to my life. But I will never forget and there will always be times that I cry.

I need to know that you care about me. I need to feel your touch, your hugs. I need you just to be with me, and I need to be with you. I need to know you believe in me and in my ability to get through my grief in my own way, and in my own time.

Please don't say, "Call me if you need anything." I'll never call you because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could do for me takes more energy than I have. So, in advance, let me give you some ideas:

(a) Bring food or a movie over to watch together.

(b) Send me a card on special holidays, our wedding anniversary, his birthday, and the anniversary of his death, and be sure to mention his name. You can't make me cry. The tears are here and I will love you for giving me the opportunity to shed them because someone cared enough about me to reach out on this difficult day.

(c) Ask me more than once to join you at a movie or lunch or dinner. I may say no at first or even for a while, but please don't give up on me because somewhere down the line, I may be ready, and if you've given up then I really will be alone.

(d) Understand how difficult it is for me to be surrounded by couples, to walk into events alone, to feel out of place in the same situations where I used to feel so comfortable.

Please don't judge me now - or think that I'm behaving strangely. Remember I'm grieving. I may even be in shock. I am afraid. I may feel deep rage. I may even feel guilty. But above all, I hurt. I'm experiencing a pain unlike any I've ever felt before and one that can't be imagined by anyone who has not walked in my shoes.

Don't worry if you think I'm getting better and then suddenly I seem to slip backward. Grief makes me behave this way at times. And please don't tell me you know how I feel, or that it's time for me to get on with my life. What I need now is time to grieve.

Most of all thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping, for understanding.  Thank you for praying for me.

And remember in the days or years ahead, after your loss - when you need me as I have needed you - I will understand. And then I will come and be with you.

--Author Unknown