A Little Help

What I have come to understand is that anti-depressants are not the enemy. And I know that if there was no such thing as medication, I would be just fine. However, I am happy that I have the option to choose to use an antidepressant to help me get through the rough spots that still arise in my life.

After a small personal struggle, I recently decided to increase my dose, again, since I could feel depression creeping up on me. I know the signs like the back of my hand. I begin to feel angry for no apparent reason. I use more profanity. Motivation is in low supply. Loneliness takes over. Boredom sets in. I know the signs.

During the onset of depression, however, I still go out and have fun and laugh and carry on like my optimistic self. When the day is over, though, and I’m alone, I feel all of the symptoms mentioned above.

I have come to accept that because of the trauma I experienced, I am prone to depression. I refuse to say, “I suffer from depression, though. The real truth is that I manage depression on a steady basis. That scenario is more accurate, I think. I tend to focus more on alleviating the symptoms than on the pain I feel when I know it’s time to change my anti-depressant dosage. Doing well on medication is not something to be ashamed of. I have been through the mill and come out on the other side, with my life in tact. So what if my seretonin levels need help every now and again?

I’m in love. Jonathan and I have talked about moving in together. I am finally in love, again. I live a life filled with blessings from the lessons I have learned. I didn’t choose for Chris to die, but since he did die, I choose to view his demise as a gift in my life, a lesson in selflessness, resilience, a gift in the form of the knowledge that when faced with a horrible circumstance, I do the right thing. I’m a loyal partner. Once I give my heart away, my heart belongs to the person to whom I gave it, and the only reason I will ever reneg is in the event of infidelity. I have a zero-tolerance policy where cheating is concerned.

I digress.

Increased Zoloft = increased concentration, increased seretonin, increased well-being.

Shneed

Angie and Counting

Sometimes I really do wonder if it’s ever really going to be over.

I have good news...good news that sent me right into a grief reaction, as per usual. I got cast in the role of “Angie” in a production of “The Wedding Singer” in the next town over.

Every time my life begins to retake the shape it took back before I ever met Chris, I feel overwhelmed with guilt, like I’m erasing him from everything and everywhere. It’s happening, though. My life really is becoming what it was, again, and I’m terrfied.

I’m 42. I used to be 31 and I used to have a husband who was 4 years younger than me, who is now 8 years younger than me, and counting.

I’m moving forward, ever-so-painstakingly, and life is good, and things hurt, and I’m happy and I miss him and I feel so much guilt about moving on, but I do it, anyway.

This play is going to be a ton of fun.

And so is the rest of my life.

Even though it hurts.

Shneed.

Phew.

It's back. I e-mailed our coordinator at the front desk and she reported that someone at the office put my Chris-mug in a basket, high atop the refrigerator. I had to commandeer a tall guy to get it down for me, but I emerged virtually unscathed. I'm happy, again.

And I bought her a gigantic chocolate bar as a symbol of my gratitude.

Shneed :)

…and sometimes progress is forced.

I’m sitting at my desk, at work, trying to gain control of an very strong urge to cry.

Yesterday, after lunch, I brought all of my containers and mugs to the kitchen area to wash. I left, and was going to come back in a few moments, but I forgot. This morning, my dishes were nowhere to be found. Among them was Chris’ big soup-mug that he bought (he bought me a blue one) so we could enjoy enormous amounts of coffee on Saturday mornings. I still have mine, but his now seems to be gone. I wasn’t ready for this.

I know it’s a very small thing in the large scheme, but that doesn’t seem to be helping me at this precise moment. I want to go hide somewhere and cry, and I want to apologize to him for being careless.

Maybe it’ll turn up. I don’t want to think that a disgruntled cleaning person threw my mug away in an oppressive outburst. But I do.

It’s silly, but if I moved forward after witnessing Chris’ deterioration and death, I know I can move forward after the loss of his green mug.

Stuff is going away…and I’m scared…and sad.

Slowly I turn, step by step, inch by inch...

Another shift has occurred. I know, because my brain has become clouded over in its usual protective manner. I thought I had seen the last of “the fog” four years ago, when it first lifted from the cloak of shock that enveloped and protected me from combusting into a ball of fire from too many emotions felt all at once. I still remember the feeling of reality incrementally entering my psyche, shred by shred. There was no rest. Each time I survived a shred, I instantaneously graduated to the next shred. I don’t think I can ever truly describe what it feels like to have had my terror that Chris might die transformed into reality. For as long as I live, I will never forget the sensation. Even now, when I think back on everything, I begin to exhale, only to remember, with a start, that Chris’ death actually did happen.

My fog of late, although much lighter than in the early days following Chris’ death, is protecting me, not from my experience, but from myself. I am beginning to let go of Chris. I can tell. I looked at a photo of him over the weekend and no longer saw “my husband.” Instead of seeing, I felt a friend, a guiding spirit, a love and a presence I believe is with me for the rest of my days on this planet. He’s here. He’s just not here in the same form in which he was here before.

I’m still afraid to completely release my grip on Chris. I’m afraid he’ll be alone. I know he’s not, but I still feel as though he needs me…or maybe I feel as though I need him. I don’t know. I sometimes feel as though I couldn’t take care of him enough, even though I know, logically, that I did everything I possibly could do for him. He thanked me, too, for always looking out for him.

I like my life with Jonathan, even though I’m really scared of history repeating itself. I wanted to tell him, this weekend, that I had felt a shift in my ability to feel and to let go of Chris, but the words never got past my throat. I’m not yet able to admit to him that I’m beginning to let go. He tells me he’s not interested in replacing Chris, which is the perfect thing to say to me. Jonathan always knows what to say to me.

I didn’t know I would be lucky enough to meet two wonderful men in my life.

Stay

It’s really no wonder I fell apart last night. I didn’t realize all of the issues building over the last two weeks into a culmination of heart and spirit-crushing grief and anxiety.

Of course, my birthday began my back-pedal into grief and anxiety, followed by my brother’s dream about Chris. Ever since his dream, I have felt as though Chris is here with me, and that pattern of thought always throws me into a futile cycle of “He’s here!” followed by “He’s dead.” followed by “He’s here!” followed by “He’s dead,” etc. It’s an exhausting pattern, really. Sometimes I just don’t know what to do with my belief in the spirit world and the afterlife. My faith has the capacity to exhaust me beyond all exhaustion.

I have also been watching “The Sopranos” beginning with season 1. Chris and I did that in L.A. when we were both so unhappy to be there that we rented every season as means of keeping us busy and occupied while we saved money to move back home. I didn’t realize how much the opening theme song would bring me back to our futon couch in West Hollywood, amidst our growing love…and Chris’ growing tumor.

In addition, I found out that someone I know and admire deeply is going to have a baby. The news, although very joyful, left me feeling very regretful over a lost life I didn’t get to realize with Chris, the promise of a family, a child of my own and Chris’ lost opportunity to be a father. My bubble burst and I came home feeling painfully envious of this man, who is 40 years old, and his wife, a young woman of 27. Knowing her age filled me with senseless regret. I don’t want to be 27, again, but at 27, beginning a life with someone has promise. Beginning a family is a real possibility, a gift a couple can share with one another. I may have lost my chance when I lost my Chris.

I came home, carrying a very heavy heart. When it finally burst, and the floodgates opened, I found myself quivering and crying uncontrollably, once again, about all the pain and fear Chris had to endure, and about all of the loss anybody in this world has to experience. I was not capable of calming myself down, last night, and the clock kept on clocking along. Finally, at 1:15 a.m., I got up and took the 2nd half of the Ativan I swallowed an hour earlier, and prepared to be rendered unconscious. When I awoke at 7:00 a.m., I was okay, again. I’m always okay, again. Things just get dicey, sometimes.

I’m 42 years old. I know women have children at my age. I’m feeling so very lucky to have found Jonathan and, love not withholding, so happy we work well, together. We’re easy, together. Our relationship is quiet, peaceful, fun, adoring, and filled with love. I never thought I would find that again, certainly not in time to ponder the possibility of becoming a mother and making my own mother a grandmother by me. I want that. I want a life with Jonathan, as his wife…his young wife (why not, right?) and I want to have children with him, and just be with him.

And I want our opportunities to stay, this time.

Born Again?

My brother woke up out of a dream about Chris the other night. He has never dreamed about Chris, before.

The two were lying side by side on a couch. Chris looked good, with his tossled hair, glasses and facial hair. Oddly, he was smoking a skinny cigar with a white waxy tip on the end of it.My brother said to Chris, "I love you! I am so glad you're my brother!" He ruffled Chris' hair and gave him a big kiss -- Mwah! -- on the head and then ruffled his hair, again. He then said to Chris, "Please take care of Robin. Promise me you will, okay?" Chris said, "Oh God, Always! In fact, I'm moving right in down the street, but she doesn't even know it."

My brother woke up.

I always believe that Chris is around me. Always. I know he is with a certainty that I cannot explain. This kind of knowing exists deep within my soul. I can feel him. I know he helps me. I know he loves me and, of course, I know I love him.

My brother left the message about the dream on my cellphone, and I listened to it as I was leaving work. I was overcome with emotion that I could not keep below the surface. My heart swelled and I felt very safe.

Maybe Chris is about to be born again. Maybe he's being born to someone who lives right up the street from me.

On the "Jonathan and Robin" front, we are in love. He's wonderful. I am so happy to be with him. I spent the night with him, last night and I'll be seeing him again, tomorrow. I couldn't be happier. My love continues to grow. My guilt continues to dissipate, albeit very slowly. I can feel myself relaxing and as a result, spending time with Jonathan is becoming more and more fun.

I am truly blessed.

Sofa, so good.

I slept on my living room couch last night, which is something I had always done in my childhood whenever the common cold came calling. My mother and father’s bedroom was right off the living room, so if I cried in the middle of the night, they could hear me and come to comfort me with cold medicine and kind, loving words. I suppose the symbolism has lasted over the years, so whenever I’m feeling sad, I have a tendency to grab my pillow and blankets and head for the sofa, where I can still feel remnants of the safety that awaited me back then.

The thought didn’t dawn on me until now, but yesterday was my first birthday spent with another man since Chris died. When I woke up this morning, I couldn’t figure out why I felt so much anxiety and sadness. I took half of an Ativan, hoping to alleviate some of the heaviness in my heart, and I did for a while. I even went out to have lunch with two friends. I did some grocery shopping and then I was going to call Jonathan, but instead, I burst into tears. That’s when everything became clear to me.

I have a feeling I’m going to be experiencing “firsts” for a long, long time. I’m adjusting to a new life, learning to accept my tragedy and the fact that I did everything I could possibly do to help Chris, to make him comfortable and to take care of him while he was sick. I did.

Grief has always had a way with sneaking up on me when I’m not expecting it. I was supposed to call Jonathan after lunch, and I tried, but he didn’t answer his phone. Now that I have melted down, and recovered, and no longer sound like Rudolph after his father pushed the mud onto his nose, I think I can try again. Maybe we can just be together for a while.

Why?

I have been thinking about Chris a lot, lately. I wish I could remember clearly, the kind of person he was. I wish I could remember how we were together, what my life was like with him in it. I love him. I miss him. I’m still disturbed by his exit from this life.

Guilt has been slowly infiltrating my mind and body since I began loving Jonathan. I tell myself it’s okay. It’s just guilt. It doesn’t have any power, other than the power to fuel my anxiety. It doesn’t stop me from loving Jonathan. I suppose its purpose is to keep the image of my beloved Chris’ face as crisp and clear as possible. I am scared half to death of his image fading from my memory. The thought steals my breath.

Jonathan and I had a wonderful time together in California. I loved being with him for more than just a few hours. I loved waking up next to him. I love his good-natured demeanor. I love how he loves me.

I had my moments in California. We visited a few of the places Chris and I had been to and a couple of times, my heart felt heavy. We drove through the neighborhood where Chris and I lived for two years, past the very street we lived on. Part of me wanted to drive up the street and see our old apartment, but somewhere inside of me, I knew the effort would be futile. I felt strange, sort of numb, knowing that driving up that street would not bring Chris back, nor would it bring me back to 2001, the year we first embarked upon our trip out west.

Since our trip, I have fallen more in love with Jonathan. We don’t see each other too much, because we’re both pretty busy people, but I cherish the time I spend with him. I’m beginning to feel that we are kindred spirits. I’m starting to want to be with him more.

I wish I wasn’t so terrified of losing Chris. I still choke on the thought. He’s somewhere. I have always felt that he is somewhere. Why do I feel that?

What’s been eatin’ me.

I have about two and a half hours to go before landing in San Diego and I can feel some anxiety beginning to creep up on me. I’m about to meet Jonathan there and not Chris. My nerves are not born of discontent. I’m very happy to be meeting Jonathan there. But there’s a disconnect in my brain and I’m having trouble understanding what happened to 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007 and 2008. 2009 is upon me and I’m on my way to California for the first time since the entire saga began.

I’m scared. “Chris and Robin” is now a time capsule, filled with love, memories, fun, marriage, sickness, health, food, family, laughter, clothing, terror, sadness and friendship. Two lives exist in that capsule; two entire lives. Chris wasn’t just a part of my life. He was an entire life of mine, encapsulated into a larger repository of additional lives all woven together to create the larger picture of what life really is; a series of time segments. My life with Chris is over. My life with Jonathan has just begun. Two separate parts of my entire existence. And there will be more.

I’m afraid Jonathan doesn’t know the depth of thought that permeates my conscious and I’m not sure he would or could fully understand. My brain is telling me that I’m flying back to 2003, the year Chris and I decided to leave Los Angeles and move home, the year we realized that happiness, for us, lived in Boston. Summer of that year overflowed with hope and excitement. We were finally home and we knew we wanted to stay this time.

Wednesday evening, again, on the platform, this time at Park Street Station, I became entirely enveloped in my love for Jonathan. The feeling overwhelmed me and I began to feel tears well up in my eyes. I then began to envision two ends of a stick of dynamite, both ignited. I remembered an evening after work in 2003 when I had to run into a building maintenance room at Filene’s headquarters, where I leaned against and slid down the wall between two trash receptacles, hiding because I couldn’t control a sudden, unexpected surge of anguish and horror from overthrowing me.

Standing on the platform the other night, the tears that threatened to surface toggled back and forth, from tears about the love I now feel for Jonathan to tears of terror at the thought that Chris might die. Love, fear, love, fear, love, fear…just like that, one moment beaming about how lucky I am to have found love a second time and the next grieving my loss as I waited for the next train to Alewife to snatch me up and deliver me to Cambridge. If I had been alone or outside, I would have allowed the salty waters to flow. I would have invited and welcomed every single suppressed emotion Alas, I’m not one to express feelings of sadness in the company of others. Crawling up the three flights of stairs to the privacy of my cozy cottage-like flat, collapsing onto my bed and purging every emotion inside me until I feel completely spent is more my style.

Two equal, opposing emotions, share the spotlight in my soul. I have come a long way since the first few days after Chris’ death. I still shudder when I remember the events of that period. I believe that I will always.

But today, I’m on my way to San Diego to meet Jonathan. My mood is light. I am filled with happiness and love. I’m excited about landing and spending a group of days together for the first time since we met.

Plus, the cute little boy sitting next to me just contributed to my blog with “s42wXVB..6711AQ`3%^&#rrrrrrrrrr” a most inspirational comment on life’s many twists and turns. Who can sum that up better than a child?

Shneed

I may be crazy, but I really don’t think I am.

I imagined my eventual return trip to Los Angeles would be wrought with tears, anxiety and unrelenting trips through the dark and damp tunnels of my mind. I figured, once off the plane, I would visit my and Chris’ old haunts, our old apartment and the park across the street, our favorite restaurants and the streets on which I used to run. In my mind’s eye, I wandered past our old bank and past the old thrift shop with the painting of the dark, gothic vampiress in the window, a work of art that taunted and haunted me during a time in my life when all I wanted was to run, my tail between my legs, back home to Boston. I figured that revisiting the ghost of that period in my life would leave me choking back tears, remembering the strife the two of us faced during our mutually-agreed harrowing stay in La-La Land.

I have experienced some anxiety these past few days, my trip dangling in front of me. I have had a couple of post-workday meltdowns before heading out to the gym. Emotions born of muscle memory, fear and anguish-of-old have recently invaded my soul, threatening to bring me down by way of severe over-eating and inevitable weight gain.

Times like this remind me of how lucky I am to still have three pills in my Lorezapam bottle. Luckily…well, skillfully, I am still managing to stretch a bottle of twenty pills across a period of six months. I think I have proved again and again that I simply do not possess an addictive personality, at least where drugs are concerned. Baked Lays potato chips, Chicago Grill flatbread pizzas and Ana’s Tacqeria burritos tell a whole other story of addictive drugs in food’s clothing. I veered away from those culinary meds yesterday morning and headed straight for the bottle (the prescription one), swallowing my usual half-a-pill, in an effort to dislodge myself from a freeze-state. I had homework to finish before leaving for my trip, yet I sat motionless on the living room sofa, dreading nothing apparent. Were it not for sweet Lorezapam, I would, no doubt, be sitting there still.

But now I write as I wait for my flight to depart to San Diego where I will meet Jonathan, now that his business trip has come to an end, and then to Los Angeles. We will drive up the coast to destination number two and have a lovely vacation, our first together.

I’m not sad. I’m in love. I’m excited to share this time with him. I no longer feel like crying about my time spent in California with Chris. Instead, I feel fortunate to have met two wonderful men in my lifetime.

I stood on the redline platform in Harvard Station earlier this afternoon waiting for the train that would bring me to South Station’s silver line. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a man next to me rocking back and forth as he stood, also awaiting the train. He pulled my focus and my first thought was, “He looks like Chris.” I hadn’t even looked at him, yet, so my very next thought was, “That’s ridiculous. I haven’t even looked at him, yet. I’m sure he looks nothing like Chris.” I looked. Aside from his Asian ethnicity, the man could have been Chris’ body double. Same hair, same glasses, same height and same full lips. I stared, just to make sure I hadn’t created the likeness, myself. I hadn’t. “The only difference,” I thought, “is that Chris would not have been moving and bouncing around so much.” After the train came and I lost track of the man, the thought occurred to me that he was Asian. Jonathan is Asian. This Asian man looked just like Chris. Now, I may be stretching here, sometimes I don’t trust myself, but if I were Chris, and I wanted to tell Robin that everything was going to be okay and wish her a happy trip, I would probably bounce around and rock back and forth in an effort to catch her attention and make sure she received my message.

I got it. I remain open and I accept the signs when they come. I am very grateful.

California, here I come.

Gradually Gaining Altitude

I am so many things. I’m full of bliss, relief, grief, happiness, anxiety and disbelief, still, about what happened to Chris. Somebody I knew died. I still have such a hard time believing that he got cancer, got angry, got sad, got weak and got dead. As absurd as it sounds, I think, on some level I still don’t believe it. I never will.

I’m finally going back to Los Angeles. Jonathan has a business trip in San Diego, so I’m flying out to meet him and we’re driving to L.A. together. I’m happy. I love him. He loves me, too. And we continue to get to know each other.

Knowing somebody takes a very long time. After six years together, Chris and I were still getting to know each other. Jonathan and I have been together for seven months. Our love is young. I like it.

Not surprisingly, I’m a bit frozen with regard to my return to L.A. I haven’t been there since Chris and I left and I have never been there without him. None of that matters. I’m buzzing with excitement to be with Jonathan, to sit on the beach with him, dine with him, sleep next to him and love him. The rest is the past. I can’t change it and I’d never want to go backwards.

I once told my therapist that I sometimes wondered what I would do if Chris ever could come back. Would I go to him? Would I stay with Jonathan? She asked me why I was torturing myself with a scenario that will never happen. In doing so, she freed me.

imprisoning myself behind bars of guilt is similar to inserting a pacifier into my mouth. As long as I’m guilty, I was a good wife. As long as guilt courses through my veins, I loved him. I’m getting better about realizing that guilt is a useless waste of energy. I loved my husband. There’s nothing to do after that. That’s the highest compliment. Guilt is a downgrade, a nuissance whose only purpose is to infect goodness with badness.

I’m melting into Jonathan. I feel euphoric in his presence. He’s different from Chris, as I knew he would be, and he is just as wonderful in very different ways. It’s true that there really is no comparing people. What I had is gone and what have now is not gone. I have it. And I grow ever-happier each day I live as Jonathan’s girlfriend. He's my man. :)

The Metamorphosis

I have turned a corner, it seems...finally. I am loving my life with Jonathan. Life is fun, again.

After Chris’ death, I thought lightness was a feeling confined to my past, but I’m beginning to see what I have been told since the beginning of the end -- that I will be happy, again. I already am.

I can tell I have turned a corner, because every few days, I experience a sudden shortness of breath when I realize I haven’t thought about my sweet Chris in a while. I’m having trouble holding onto the horrors of the events leading up to his diagnosis and ultimate death. I’m beginning to lose the sharpness and strength with which those memories used to choke me.

The change is mostly welcome, but I have also been feeling some guilt, which is natural, I suppose. I never want to forget my Chris. Ever. I still want him here, even though he has been gone for over four years. Not a day goes by that I don’t hold images of him in my mind and love for him in my heart, and gratitude towards him for making me the person I am today.

Jonathan and I are in love. I never dreamed love could happen for me, again.

It Must Be Love

I woke up in the wee hours of Sunday morning and coulnd’t get back to sleep, so I whispered to Jonathan that I was going into the other room to watch the TV for a short while until I felt tired, again. I began to relax and decided to pour myself a glass of water in the spriit of keeping myself hydrated after dehydrating myself with too much exercise and not enough liquid these past few weeks.

Standing at the sink in the dark, I began to feel signs of impending weariness. I closed my eyes for a second and in that second I was overcome with terror. I gasped to catch my breath as the thought invaded my mind, “He’s going to get cancer and die.”

Ah, Sweet Guilt.

Chris was in my dream, again, last night.

I was trying to wash out the mason jar from which I drink water each day, but it kept overflowing with soapy suds. My sister said, “Oh, that’s too much soap. You can’t drink that.”

I began filling a large pot with water. Once filled, I placed the pot on the edge of the counter, but it fell onto the floor and the water spilled. My sister yelled, “Oh my god, Chris!”

When I turned and looked, Chris was on his back on the floor. He had slipped in the water and fallen and he sat on the floor laughing.

I raced over to him and hugged him, telling him “I’m so sorry!” I held onto him and my thoughts raced through my head, rapid fire, “cancer he has cancer he has cancer he has cancer he has cancer I gave him cancer.”

Then I woke up.

Not My Creej

I had a strange dream about Chris last night. His friends from Vermont and I were at a folk festival. I was talking with his friend, Bec, when I looked up and saw a man who looked exactly like Chris. My heart leapt and I couldn’t stop looking at him. I felt as though my heart was going to explode out of my chest. But I knew this man wasn’t Chris. He just looked like him. And I knew that, even though he could have been Chris’ clone, ultimately, he wouldn’t be my Chris, no matter what. He’d be different, and I’d notice the difference and my life wouldn’t be the same as it was with him in it. Still, I stared and stared and tried to find even the slightest difference in his and Chris’ appearance, but I could not. He even wore the same clothes; baggy khaki shorts down to his knees, beige suede sneakers, oversized short-sleeve button-down plaid shirt, same glasses…same everything. But not my Chris. This man didn’t know me at all.

I woke up feeling tired and sad.

A Very Late Response to my Commenters

First of all, I have been wanting to answer the comments that Alicia, Anonymous from CA and Django’s Mommy left on my last post. As always, thank you for sharing and for your well-wishing. I always appreciate the support.

Anonymous, I’m so sorry for your recent loss. You're right about loss being confusing, devastating and crippling, but I hope you know those symptoms, however long they make stick around, are ultimately temporary ones. A friend of mine is living a story similar to yours. Her husband, with whom she has shared her life for 18 years, became ill with MS and then became a heroin addict. I talk with her about it, periodically, and try to offer as much understanding and help as I can. Each loss is unique and only the person who has lost really knows his or her own pain. Loss is death, whether or not the person lost is alive or not.

I hope my journey through the woods has helped and continues to help clear some sort of a path to navigate for anyone who reads my experiences.

I could not figure out how to add my e-mail address to this blog, but if you ever want to contact me privately, Anonymous, and anybody else who would like to, I’d like you to know that you are always welcome to e-mail me at robin@shneed.com.

I hope you’re finding even the slightest bit of peace in your life as you move forward. Your pain will heal and you will feel better, eventually. Please believe, and have faith, and take care of yourself every day.

Shneed

Mount Shneed: A Volanic Eruption of Rage

I blew up at Susan (therapist), yesterday. I never blow up at anyone. Typically, I go home and blow up all alone in the safety of my solitude. I am usually a self-contained, reserved, in-control person whose emotions remain within the shell of my physical being. My personal belief is that people do not deserve the wrath of my anger, and if I become angry at someone, I usually suck in, process, cool off and then diplomatically air my feelings, when they are no longer on display. But yesterday, I completely lost control and unleashed a backdraft of anger, which has been smouldering below the surface of my psyche, probably since Chris fell ill five years ago, and certainly since his death four years ago, but which has intensified over the last two weeks for a number of reasons I haven’t yet fully admitted or realized.

Susan was trying to arrive at an agreement with me about her cancellation policy which, in itself, is an entirely benign subject. Combined with my cup of rage which had been teetering on the edge of “cup runneth over”, the subject opened the gait that had previously contained my fury, and before I knew what was happening, I was yelling, fighting for my right to be loved, screaming at her for “turning on me” and well on my way out the door promising never to return.

Susan’s good. She remained calm and composed, steering me inward, coaxing me to locate the source of my anger. At first, her calm angered me even more and even though I threatened to leave, my inner-most desire was to sit down and stay. My pride almost got in the way, but ultimately, I engaged in battle with myself, swallowed hard and sat back down to disect what happened.

I’m glad I did.

Expressing anger does not come easy to me. I fear abandonment. The fact that I unleashed my rage on Susan speaks volumes about how much I trust her. I hate that truth. I view that truth as a weakness in my otherwise inpenetrable emotional fort that renders me vulnerable to manipulation, deceit, abandonment and to my own fear, which tells me I have never been worthy of love, and that I never will be. Almost the moment I found love, it was stripped away from me in the most final manner, and if that ever happens again I will not survive the trauma. I’ll die a thousand deaths, right where I stand.

I’m committed to exploring my explosion with Susan. I’m terrified of the emotions trapped inside of me, but I want to let go. My anger gets in the way of my natural demeanor, which is mainly composed of light humor, love, kindness, serenity and joy.

A Framed Gesture of Acceptance

About a week ago, I decided I was going to take my and Chris’ wedding picture down from its place on the wall at the top of the stairs at the entrance of my apartment, and replace it with a picture of Jonathan and me. I think that when, and if, he notices (Let’s face it. He’s a man, and for all of the importance I placed on the deed, he’ll probably walk right by my framed gesture.) he may be delightfully surprised at my token of affection and forward movement from the “then” into the “now.”

Removing our wedding picture stung. I’m still not sure what to do with this very special record of my past love. At the moment, the photo, still in its frame, sits on the end table next to the chair Chris sat in as I held his hand, talking him out of this world and into the next.

I’m saddened and I feel guilty (of course). I’m erasing my husband. No. Cancer erased my husband. I loved him. I loved being his wife. I loved telling everyone that I was wildly in love with him. I was wildly in love with him.

Still, the fact that he has been transformed into a flattened, paper likeness of the man I knew and loved stings less and less with the entrance of acceptance and the exit of denial and anger.

Jonathan helped me make the switch. He helps me make the switch every day, whether or not he realizes.

Jonathan. I wonder if he’ll notice. If not immediately, then eventually.

Happy Anniversary, Creej.

There’s a nor’easter brewing within me this morning, and I’m hoping I can drink my coffee, get dressed and get out of my apartment before the storm hits. I can feel my suppression-engine thrusting into overdirve. Not staying in is, perhaps, among the six-hundred milion best plans that have ever hatched in my mind. Today can be a good day, as long as I stick to the plan. Coffee and a movie with a friend, running, weight-training, dinner with another friend. The storm will come, but if I can manage to delay the rain until bed time, at least I can just fall apart and then fall asleep.

I’m afraid of my wedding video, now. I’m afraid to see Chris in motion. I’m afraid to see how happy that bride was, how unbelievable it was to her that she had met a man she loved, who loved her and who, together with him, created a unioin as perfect as the healthiest unioin can be. I’m too afraid, now.

Still, there’s happiness all around me today. I have a choice to follow the sun or the rain. The decision is mine. I don’t want to cry just yet. I don’t want to cry, at all.

Happy 5th wedding anniversary, Creej.

I love you.

Shneed