Touching Chris' Stuff

The other day when Marc was in my apartment he was trying to explain to me how to brake a bicycle chain. He looked around for something to help him demonstrate.

He picked up Chris’ guitar hand-strengthener and began to demonstrate. I felt a surge of panic seeing his hands touching something that belonged to Chris. I wasn’t ready, but I held my emotions in check.

Chris’ Aunt Renee gave me a beautiful wooden box in which I keep pictures of Chris . The top of the box is a picture frame which holds a photo from our wedding day of a close up of Chris and I kissing. I keep it on my coffee table. I meant to move it somewhere a little less noticeable before Marc came up, but I forgot. Just now, I noticed that it was moved onto the end table at the side of my couch. I didn’t move it. I think Marc did. I’m guessing he saw it and picked it up to look at it and put it down on the other table. Tonight, when I noticed it was moved, I had a small breakdown and held onto it, sobbing on the couch. I couldn’t stop. I’m freaked out about another man touching my Chris-stuff.

There are so many layers to grief. I hate all of them. I’m so afraid I’m going to make a wrong move and piss Marc off. I know that if that happens, he’s not the guy for me. It’s just a matter of trust. Sitting here and trying to guess what might happen would be a huge waste of time and energy. We live in a free country. If Marc wants to pick up one or two of my things that belonged to Chris, there’s really no law against it. The obvious solution is to hoard everything away in a secret place but I want to keep them out in the open. I really don’t know what the protocol is. There is no crime in Marc touching things. I was really happy that he was looking at the pictures of Chris and me that I have hanging on my walls. He even said, “Is that Chris?” and then he said, “And that must be your wedding day.” He complimented the crown of flowers I wore. I loved that he wasn’t afraid to ask me about or look at the pictures. Is it fair that I keep them up? I can’t take them down. The thought of putting them away makes me feel like vomiting.

Ouch. My neck hurts.

When I began crying, I headed straight for my bottle of Ativan, but I stopped myself before I got there. I don’t want to take drugs anymore to aid me in my battle against grief. I only want to take drugs for recreationall purposes. Ativan feels so much nicer when I start out happy than when I start out in a fit of tears. I finished my bottle of Zoloft and I’m not having it refilled. I’m done. No more antidepressants. They’re so 2005.

Anyway, despite the fact that Marc’s actions threw me into a grief/anxiety attack, he makes me very happy. I hope he stays.