Dark Places.

I write here when I am in my darkest thoughts.

I am so very alone. So are you. We both are now just in different ways. You are in darkness. I am not sure if you feel pain? If you see me? If you know whats happening? If you see us, I know you are torn to pieces.

Im going to say no. You wouldn’t allow anything to get in between us. So why now? So it must be darkness. Not sure what form. I am sorry it might be darkness- I know that scared you.

We were both agnostic. We both thought this was unfortunate. How lovely it would be to be comforted by Heaven. I wish. I’ve tried. I mean I got my degree in religion and attend a Catholic graduate school.

It doesn’t make sense logically and therefore I cannot get behind it. Yet, nothing makes sense also. What is sense? I know absolutely nothing.

I spend my day wandering through emotions. And rapidly at that.

At some point I am suicidal. I feel empty all day, but at some point it gets very intense. Too intense. Usually it’s at night.

The suicide hotline doesn’t help people like me. I am not saying it doesn’t help someone, just that someone isn’t me. The feeling is still there rotting in my core. Guess what? I do not care who reads this because I know many people feel this rot. Maybe not now they don’t, I surely didn’t before this. Now I do. I felt intensely sad before. I’ve even had bouts of depression here and there. But this? No.

How do I explain wanting to kill yourself? Hmm. So I suppose prior to this I would get upset about something and I would feel sad. Maybe it would be something pretty bad and I’d cry pretty hard. Maybe my day would be ruined. I knew it would pass though. It had to at some point and it always did.

This though, this is like you cannot walk. Instead of feeling sad someone has come to you and inserted a knife slowly into your chest. You are now trapped. There is physical tightness and pain. It’s pushing into you very hard. You just want release. Your brain is panicking not knowing how to release the figurative knife. Maybe you move some, the pain is still stabbing you. So you start crying, normally that works a bit. But here it doesn’t. It sticks around. So then you are begging your brain to please stop it. Your brain is clueless, no matter how many “coping mechanisms” you have been given.

So it says “end it.” It’s the only thing it knows. Truly knows. You may have exterior support but that’s not stopping the issue inside of your self that no one can get to. That uncomfortable itch cannot be healed by words or support. It just is.

I want to discuss this issue actively- not in past tense. When suicidal thoughts are discussed it seems to be in two limited ways. One being, “I used to have them,” or two being that the person actually went through with it. Neither of these are as helpful as saying it when a person actually feels it. People do not do this though, because of the consequences. So there is this weird line of we ask people to be open, but not too open. Fuck that. We do this with everything and I can’t stand it.

I don’t know if this is how other people felt, it’s just how I felt. The thoughts feel as though I haven’t eaten in three days and my brain is begging me to eat. Instead here it’s begging me to stop the pain and it’s suggesting it knows the way to do that. I tell it it’s wrong. Only because of the kids. How could you do that to the kids two times I say to it. I can’t. So suffering is the only option, not ending it.

My therapist has suggested the suicidal thoughts are another attempt at coping. Since this has happened my brain has thrown out to me so many weird “strategies.” This one is my brain saying “well, plan Z we could always end it.” It just wants to keep me safe and pain free. However 10/10 would not recommend the brain it’s not doing a great job with recommendations.

My therapist is aware of all these issues and says on the outside I am *killing* (icky word now) it. On the inside I am dying. All the great things I do for the kids: run them to sports, re-do their rooms, have every fun activity available at our home they could imagine… Surely I must be getting better… right? Everything is looking good. Objectively at least.

I have been depressed before. I even took medication for it. When we had an ectopic pregnancy in 2017 I became very very emotional. I almost died and I lost a baby I really wanted. I couldn’t go places without crying. If I heard a newborn cry I would get upset. My doctor suggested some medication, I don’t even remember which one. I was on it for a very short time. It made me a robot. I remember getting off it because I wanted to cry. I wanted to be able to have emotions. I remember feeling like I wasn’t a human without the hurt so I got off of them. It took me awhile, but I did come to terms with it. It makes me sad still but it was a different pain. It was more tolerable. That sounds bad. But I didn’t rot there I just hurt.

Here, I do not want to feel. Period. Emotions are not worth it. I have been keeping myself completely sober for the most part. I do take xanax and zoloft now. But I’m still hurting. I don’t plan to not hurt at all- just a little less would be nice.

I have thought about Jesse every waking moment since I got that nasty call. Every second. No breaks. No happiness.

I should be so happy right now. I have 4 beautiful children, I am almost done with school, I have wonderful friends, family support, I have a beautiful home. But no. I rot. I am so lost. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I have received nearly everything I ever asked for. I have beautiful babies. I had such a good spouse & father to my kids. Why give it to me just to take it away?

I’ve never “lived for my kids only,” before, but I am now. I love them more than I loved Jesse and this was the same for him. Them first then us, then whoever else. This is the only lucky thing or I would be done. I know this would be the same for him. We did talk about this. But if anything happened to them- it’s a free game. How can you live when your family is destroyed? Items mean nothing.

If you read this and your first thought is something like: “try tea before bed.” Ugh. Please just don’t. This isn’t me having a bad day. I so wish it was. I loved tea. Those were the days.

It’s trauma like I’ve never known nor wanted to know. I want to go back to my stupid bubble so very badly. This is why I wish Jesse was a horrible father and I wish he didn’t care about me so much- because I actually know I could handle the kids and life much better. I just can’t do it as well grieving him and I can’t do it with my grief and the kids grief and my confusing feelings about Wren and postpartum depression. It’s entirely too much. So I am going to take some medication.

*Luckily* I think I am understanding what brings on the dark thoughts. There isn’t a set schedule but I tend to have them more at night or after Raiden becomes hysterical or when I am coming home to an empty house. It’s those kinds of moments where they may creep in. They last about 20 minutes so I know somewhere they will stop- but as I said- in the moment my brain is trying to convince me this will be eternity.

I will continue to live like this. I really don’t have a choice. I am not strong. I just am. It makes people uncomfortable if I mention I hate my life or I want to kill myself- but I assure you this is young widow 101. I have met more widows than I ever wanted to know and they definitely express this to me. They just can’t express it to anyone else because God forbid people are allowed to be miserable.

Today I spoke to Jesse’s aunt. I told her my life sucks. She laughed and said “yes, your life fucking sucks.” It is what it is. Pretending it’s not shit wont make me better. I just have to hope eventually something gives- but sometimes the ladies who have been long term young widows make this seem bleak.

Until then I guess I will just have a shred of hope I am not in a mental prison forever.

Do you see me?

Did you see me return to school today and not do a good job? I tried. At least I signed in. I even took some notes. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Did you see me fall to the floor twice now like I had been shot in the chest, but it was just pain and tears?

Did you see Oraia wake up last night, from her millionth nightmare? She would always find you at night to make herself feel better and now she comes to me. Do I hold up? I am trying really hard. The kids are exhausting me but I am trying. They are trying too.

Do you see my anger? When I go to counseling do you hear me curse your name? I shouldn’t be there. It’s not for our family. Grief counseling is for other people. Not us. They are the “other,” not us. We don’t want to be apart of that group. Why can we not pity them together like we used to? Why is it us now?

Did you see me think for hours about what to do with the new baby? I am having a c-section, it hurts to cough….how do I avoid hysterically crying? I don’t want physical pain too. Or maybe I do. Maybe the burning of the surgery would actually feel better than what I currently experience mentally every fucking second. Do you see me panicking as I try to figure out how to raise a child and explain to her that Daddy wanted to be here but he couldn’t? How do I make sense of that? How do I make sure she is treated like you are here, when she has never met you?

I ask why she doesn’t get to play dolls with you, she doesn’t get a special tuck in, or your perfect little swaddle you would put them in to get them to stop fussing. I won’t wrap her as snug. The photos spread out around the house of the five of us, what do I do with those? She isn’t in them. Do I keep them up so she knows you or do I take them down so she doesn’t feel left out? I have no idea. Do you hear me screaming at you how could you leave us like this?

I wonder if you heard our friend when she came over the other night, talking about her dad passing when she was young. She told me about things that always hurt. Did you hear her or did you hear your own kids? I heard our children’s voice through her. It’s painful, she is in her 30’s. She did tell me something else though. She brought up that quote “it is better to love and have lost than to not have loved at all.” She said she used to think that was a cliche post about breaking up. She said now she knows the author means they actually lost someone. Someone died. She and others have said to me that they still do not know what it’s like to be loved in that way. It’s flattering but I also hate it. Ignorance is bliss. If I just had a regular relationship where we were married but nothing super serious, I wouldn’t be in this much pain, right?

Did you see the text to your phone today from Oraia that she loves and misses you? Did you see the show Chloe wanted me to watch with her? I couldn’t handle it. I am so sensitive to even the silliest of things. Do you see me thinking that that if I write until my hands hurt you might come back?

I read that since your death was sudden, my grieving process is severely delayed. This sucks because I want it to be done with. I don’t want to be stuck here, it’s too uncomfortable. I cannot take any medications to numb myself. I cannot do anything to ease the pain, I have to feel every second of it. Why would you do this to me? Or to the kids? I know you didn’t actually know. But it’s confusing nonetheless. My brain is logical and wants to make sense of something illogical.

Everything is so arbitrary now. There is no meaning in anything. I am just turning into a robot that keeps my kids doing “well.” Purpose is pretty lost. There’s a lot of negativity here but I wonder if people really want the truth or if they want to “feel better.” I am not nor was I ever in the business of just making someone feel better. You loved that about me. When the cashier ask me how I am, I do him a solid and just nod my head once. It’s either that or he’s going to get a mouthful he didn’t ask for. But like I said, we want to hear that things are okay because to acknowledge certain aspects of reality is way too painful, so we pretend like all is well, until it’s not.

We are no different than animals. I said that prior to this but God do I feel it now. There is no hierarchy, we made it up. I am no different than a gazelle being chosen by a lion. Today our family wasn’t successful at the waterhole. There is nothing special about it. The lion didn’t choose us because of a reason, he chose us because he was hungry. That’s it. To argue that the gazelle was eaten by the lion because of a reason, or purpose unbeknownst to the gazelle is a coping mechanism. It would be cool but I believe it’s highly unlikely. The ant that we accidentally step on while walking out of our house wasn’t chosen by us. It just was.

Is that too uncomfortable? I suppose. Maybe I will find some beauty in things one day, but right now it’s bleak and to undo that would mean bringing you back, which isn’t happening.

I remember how we felt when each of our children were born. Totally the opposite of what I just wrote, we were definitely lions on those days. But we did discuss reality after the euphoria wore off. That we were just a splurge of random chemicals. We obviously hoped we were wrong, but how do I solidify that we were wrong after experiencing this?

It makes me wonder why we do anything pleasurable to be honest. I used to sing a lot. Why do people sing? I guess they are happy and blissfully unaware of what lies ahead. How did people get through times of war and famine? Or maybe a tsunami that kills millions? We shrug it off. We feel bad for a few days when we hear that children were killed at school, but then we return to normal life because we can’t do anything. It is interesting we spend such little time discussing concepts like these when they are the most interesting and complex (i.e. “never discuss religion, sex or politics,” who dared to even suggest such a thing? We should discuss it all.) A Facebook post of angry rants isn’t a discussion. So those don’t count. That’s just anger and confusion. Apparently something happened at the capitol a few days ago? It’s funny I normally would have had slight interest in this and now I have none. When your most important things are taken from you, you really realize how many things don’t matter.

Jesse wasn’t a gold fish.

Ouch. That probably stings as a title but God do we need grief reform in our world. I mean, I think we need a lot of reform in a million different categories but since this is my current experience this is what I will be ranting about.

I do think everyone has the best of intentions. I generally have always thought that, but so far I have just noticed a few things that are disturbing.

  1. We are not on a timeline- This will impact myself and my children. Forever. If we cannot handle an event, we can’t handle it. If this makes people upset or angry, our relationship is terminated. I will not make myself or my kids more uncomfortable than we already are. We already suffered so much, I will not add to it. It’s about us now and I am not sorry for it in the slightest. If it’s been two years and you think we are behaving oddly, then that’s too bad. Unless you are exactly in our situation, you won’t get it. You can be as empathetic as you want- just as I tried to be for my friends who had loss someone prior to this, but I didn’t know.
  2. Don’t tell me I have to be strong- Literally the worst thing I can even fathom (besides losing the kids) just happened. I’ll do what I want. My house isn’t going to catch fire, my kids aren’t going to starve, I’m not going to live in a box in the street. But I am going to feel like I don’t want to exist most days. I am going to repeat myself, constantly. I’ll probably talk about Jesse more than some people want to hear, but listen or don’t. What does it even mean to be strong? It means nothing. There is no strong, there is just existing.
  3. I won’t apologize for making you uncomfortable- These things need to be said. Not because I expect anyone to be a widow at 30 but because we all have to deal with death eventually. Either we will be the ones who die early or we will lose someone unexpectedly and be ill-prepared. We will need support and if we hide ourselves from words that hurt we will be ill-equipped. Remember that when you are done reading my blog, you probably get to go back to your normal life. We don’t. But one day, you will be in my shoes in some form OR someone you care about will be experiencing the loss of YOU. Don’t make it harder for yourself or others.
  4. Perspectives are different and that needs to be understood- I am not the only one suffering. Jesse was a son, brother, best friend, etc. These people are suffering too but in different ways. People naturally want to compare grief because they try to relate. I think that’s just human nature, but sometimes it’s very damaging. At the end of the day, if you didn’t spend a lot of time with him, it naturally is not going to be as painful for you. It may be painful sometimes, but I can assure you it’s nothing like what I, his mother, sister, etc is going through. I think a good example of this is family dinners. Jesse and I had family dinners at his parents house about once a month. We are about to have a family dinner on Sunday, except for the first time, Jesse will not be there. While this is painful, this is the “first” time they have to go through this. For the kids and I, it is the 63rd time he has missed a meal. Likewise, there are elements I can not understand either from his family members, such as child loss, which is notoriously known as the worst kind of loss there is. I think it is important to discuss how the loss impacts us in different ways, but to be very careful when comparing and contrasting.

While this has been said, I can say that ultimately my experience, despite some very nasty bumps in this horrible road- has been rather okay. I do feel as though for the most part people have been understanding and sympathetic to us. I feel currently that whatever resource someone had to help us they offered. I will forever be appreciative of that. Even though I can say 95% of people have been helpful, the 5% that have not really feel like 200%. This is because I already have an open wound and they are pouring salt in it. Obviously these people aren’t thinking clearly- but it’s not my job to fix them or fight to make them understand. Hopefully they do that on their own. That’s what makes me want to make a blog post about the 1-2 that have appalled me rather than the 98 people who have helped. Grim outlook I know. But when you are in a situation as such, things are not handle as easily as they once were.

The Start of a Shitty Christmas Film.

Us. Three days before we would never look like this again.

The Christmas film comment came from our 10 year old daughter, “C.” We were on day 2 (?) of horribleness and she said “Look Mom, we are in one of those bad Christmas movies.” What she meant by this was certain Christmas films follow a standard formula of:

1) Something tragic happens, like a family member passes 2) The whole family falls apart 3) The mom loses herself 4) The kids find a way to pull to the family together, like they see Santa or something. 5) The mom and kids learn the meaning of Christmas and feel like their tragedy has some sort of positive feeling on it.

Our tragedy was losing Jesse. We try to hang in there but we all fall apart in our own ways. I have lost “who I am,” my house isn’t organized, I struggle to do basic things, etc. The kids weren’t able to pull anything together. Santa didn’t really matter. He still came to our house and the kids were happy, but it was painful happiness. I hate that kind. The final element, I suppose happened, but it didn’t happen for us. It happened for another family. Jesse was able to donate 4 organs, his heart, liver and both kidneys. We walked next to the hospital bed as he was wheeled to the operating room at 11:40 p.m. on Christmas Eve. I wish I was making this up, it is still unbelievable.

Anyways. She is right. Our life now seems like a poorly made Christmas film. To many elements are unbelievable and therefore it’s not making for a good story. Except it is literally our real lives.