Updates: Work, Depression, & Derby

Time is going by.  The sun keeps rising.  The sun keeps setting.  Life carries on.  I carry on.  I do not judge whether these things are good or bad.  They simply are. 

I am working more.  I am expected to be back up to 40 hours by the first week in October.  There have been some changes on my team at work that have added to my responsibility and the pressure to conform to a normal 40 hour work week for the first time in a year (I dropped down to 32 last September to better care for Ron and was off work completely from February through June to provide 24 hour care to him in his final months and to take a few weeks for grieving).  To say I don’t feel ready for the responsibility or for a full time work week is an understatement.  I fought it, at first.  Felt hurt and angry that I had so much support while Ron was ill and now that he is gone, felt only pressure to magically be “better” at a time when I was/am feeling so much worse.  But, they have been so willing to work with me.  Far more accommodating than I imagine most employers would be.  And I need the income and the insurance.  So, I am making my best effort to be an efficient employee again and to eventually pull my weight on the team after they have all carried me for so long.

At work, I am functional.  I think I am doing a good job and am even adapting to my new responsibilities and learning new things.  But it is ironic sometimes.  I will be meeting with a person and will feel that my depression and desire not to exist is so much more severe than theirs – I cannot help but compare.  Or they will give me a fantastic idea about a comfortable way to end my life.  I realize I am saying this publicly.  I realize it is not normal to talk about wanting to die.  I am aware, just as I am when meeting with these walk-ins, that it is not normal for my thought process to jump to ‘that is a great method’ or to take a cue from the very people who are seeking help from me.  I have a great deal of self awareness about this.  I am not acting on these thoughts.  But they are there.  Constantly.  I am currently in the practice of noticing them and letting them go. 

I am trying my very best to stay alive, even when I don’t want to be in a life without Ron.  He and I knew this would likely happen, given my family history.  We talked about it.  We talked about the very real possibility I would stop living soon after he did.  I know he would be proud of my efforts to stay here.  And it is an effort.  In fact, every day that I make it to the end with all these thoughts swirling around in my head, I feel like I have accomplished something monumental.  My desire to die has been less over the past 3-4 days.  That is something.  But, I know it ebbs and flows.  I am not “over it.”

Please don’t judge me for having these thoughts.  If you have not experienced a love like me and Ron’s and a loss like the one I am facing, you cannot possibly understand where I am at.  When I talk to others who have lost their partner at a young age or in early stages of the relationship, most of them confirm having shared similar thoughts.  Most of them talk about it taking a year or more before they found their own reason for staying alive.  Heck, I think it is safe to say that most people faced with any kind of loss have had these thoughts.  It may not be a “normal” thing for me to be sharing about my desire not to live, but it is also not the most abnormal thing to feel or think for someone in my position.  I accept that and hope others can, too.

I have started checking in with my therapist about how close to the edge of the metaphorical cliff I am.  I imagine the cliff to be the Grand Canyon.  Having been there a few times, I know the places that have railings and the places that don’t.  I know where I have previously climbed over railings for photo opportunities and looked down and imagined the plunge.  Sometimes, when I check in with my therapist, I am dangling a foot off the rim, just to see if it feels right.  There have been times when I am looking straight down with very little to anchor me to the edge.  At times, I am a few feet away.  Sometimes, I imagine myself just sitting on the railing, legs hanging over the far side.  Other times, I am safely behind the railing.  As a way to check in with blog readers, I can tell you that today I am safely behind the railing – taking my photos like any other normal tourist would.

Forgive me, readers, for brutal honesty is all I have left to give.  I spend so much of my week putting on my work face and performing.  Outside of work, I don’t want to perform.  Work is a blessing in that it allows me a sense of purpose and goal-directed activity.  I can accomplish specific tasks and feel like I have done something.  Sometimes, I even feel like I have helped someone else – I get to share a connection to the struggles of humanity.  But, it is also a curse because after spending so much time there, I don’t have anything left to give socially.  It makes me more isolated.  I cannot pretend to be okay outside of work.  Anyone I hang out with has to be prepared for the truth.  Any questions asked will be answered frankly.  I don’t really call anyone, even when I plan to or want to.  Sometimes, I don’t even answer the phone.  And if no one calls me, then I go without any social connection at all.  For example, Saturday I did not talk to a single living human all day.  I talked to my dogs . . . and to Ron.  I expect the isolative pattern will get worse, at least for a little while, after I am back to full time.

Being alone in my house is not all bad, though.  Sometimes I need it.  It allows me a chance to be with my feelings and thoughts without having to protect anyone else or try to smile or sugarcoat things.  It gives me time to openly cry and sob to the point of exhaustion.  In fact, I have been doing so much of this lately that I have not needed a sleep aid in over a week (yay!).  It offers the chance for me to write to Ron and to work on my Ron Projects.  The Ron Projects are some of the most healing and helpful things I have in my life right now. 

Still, I like to know that people care and think about me.  I feel selfish saying this, but it is true.  I often feel abandoned.  I have people I considered dear friends who do not check in with me for over a month . . . in fact, I have had to reach out to them rather than them reaching out to me.  I don’t know why this is.  I imagine maybe death is hard to talk about or be around.  I imagine seeing me sad to the point of not wanting to exist is difficult.  I imagine maybe they do not know what to say or do not want to acknowledge what is painful.  I get it.  I get all of these things.  All I can tell you is that I need friends now more than ever.  I need people to reach out to me.  I may not be the most responsive, but I need to know I still matter to living people . . . otherwise, why am I sticking around when the person I really mattered to has already moved on?  I need to know that people still think about me.  It can be as simple as just letting me know that.  I just had someone this week look into my eyes and tell me, “I don’t know what to say to you, but I think about you every day.”  This simple statement meant so much to me and really touched my soul. 

Even just the offer that you are there to hang out with or talk to is enough.  I may never take you up on it, but just to know you are there, I feel like I have some support.  In my lack of close friends being there for me in this way, I have become very aware of the unexpected support I have received from people I do not know well who have reached out.  I feel nothing but immense gratitude for them.  I may not have ever gone over to their house or picked up the phone to talk to them, but I knew/know I could/can.  That means so much.  Truly, it is so important.  I am a widow.  Not a leper.  Grief is not contagious.  Please don’t write me off.  Please do reach out.  I might not be as much fun as I used to be, but I am still here and I need to fill my life with reasons to be here.

I know what has and hasn’t been helpful during this time.  I know what I will and won’t do for/to others who may (unfortunately) one day find themselves in my situation.  That is one consolation I can take from this time.  I am learning.

Outside of work and Ron Projects, I have stayed busy with therapy and grief counseling.  I will be starting a six week support group at the end of September for partner loss.  Literally I will be spending 4-5 hours per week on formally processing my grief with professionals, not to mention the time I take on my own to do this through reading and research and self-reflection.  I have an hour commute (round trip) every day.  I have to single-handedly take care of my 100+ year old farm house and the 2+ acres of property it sits on.  And I am a mom to 2 dogs, one of whom has significant health issues and just had surgery on Friday to remove a rapidly growing mass from her chest.  So, yep, I am a busy person and I really don’t have much time for a social life.  I feel overwhelmed when I think about all of this stuff compounded, so I try to take it day by day, asking simply ‘what do I have to get done today?’  And I still try to build in time for social activities so that I am not too isolated. 

Last week, I hung out on Friday with new friends and Saturday with old friends.  I had a great time and love the people who accept me as I am: sad or funny or drunk or angry or borderline-suicidal or momentarily happy or inspired or reminiscing about Ron or not any of those things but something else entirely.  Just being with people who let me be whatever and however I am is all I need.  By the end of the weekend, though, I was ready to be alone again.  And then I just cried and cried and cried.  It was so much social activity for someone who has become so isolated. 

Yesterday, because I needed to be home taking care of Ru after her surgery, I had two different couples come visit me at the house at different points in the day.  So rarely do I get visitors out here.  And I need that.  I need people to come here and help me make new memories in this space.  It was nice to talk to friends.  Nice to have people visit.  When Ron was sick, we had more visitors than we could handle, plus all the hospice people in and out of the house.  Since he died, I can count with my fingers the number of people who have come out here.  That makes the space lonely at times, to go from so much to so little activity.  So, I do welcome visitors . . . if you are willing to be one, let me know and we can set it up.

No matter who I am hanging out with, they are not Ron.  This awareness sits with me always.  I am constantly missing him, even when surrounded by the loving presence of others.  Damn, I miss him so much!!!

I think I have pretty much (momentarily?) given up on trying to love myself or see myself the way Ron did.  It is impossible.  He loved me so much.  Way more than I can ever love me.  And I don’t care about loving me . . . at least not right now.  This makes me pretty frustrating to work with in therapy.  I don’t want to change right now.  I don’t want to get better.  I just want to be where I am and tell my story.

One thing that gives me hope, though, is roller derby.  I had not been to a bout since Ron died.  I didn’t know if I would even still like it; though I got into it before I met him, it was something that we shared a love of and so I wasn’t sure if I could handle it anymore.  But, spur of the moment, I dragged my brother and sister-in-law to a bout at Wings Stadium on 8/18/12.  Killamazoo Derby Darlins beat the Grand Raggidy Roller Girls in an amazing bout with a lot of action.  I was surprised at how much I still love it.  I was shocked at how really, genuinely happy I was there.  I truly do LOVE roller derby. 

That same week, I had randomly talked to the “fresh meat” (term for new derby skaters) coach for the Battle Creek Cereal Killers.  They practice on Tuesday and Thursday nights near enough to my house that I think I can get home from work, feed the dogs, gear-up, and go.  I think there is a very real possibility, once Ru heals and once my busy September is over and once I complete six weeks of this partner loss group, that I may start skating for them and see where that takes me.  I may not love myself like Ron did, but I have a spark of hope that if I can succeed at derby, I may be able to love myself for that.  I may be able to love derby persona Heather.  Going to the Killamazoo bout reinforced this idea for me, then I arrived home that same night to a care package from my fabulous little sister who attended a four bout tournament in Texas and sent me some awesome derby swag.  It was like a message that week, beating constant: derby is going to be my future.  We all have to have something we can envision ourselves being passionate about.  For me, right now, that thing is roller derby.  Plus, what a way to honor Ron, who last summer bought for me all the gear I need to be a derby girl and encouraged me to pursue it.  I know he will smile if I ever make this dream a reality.

Package from Holly - the cake mix is for eating, dry - don't knock it 'til you try it

OK, this is enough of a rambling update.  I meant to make this post about some of my Ron Projects, but I guess it is just all about me.  So, coming soon, more on the Projects.  For now, thanks for bearing with me while I bare my soul.