u/guess_im_not_welcome

I was 10 when this movie first came out. I didn't see it until it came out on VHS and I rented it from Blockbuster, and it scared the absolute hell out of me. It wasn't for probably another two or three years that I learned that it wasn't actually real. They did so well marketing it as actual found footage with the documentaries and missing posters and all.

I can still remember that first time I watched it. I was supposed to go watch a meteor shower with my aunt and uncle, and while I was waiting for them to come pick me up, I decided to pop it into the VCR and I was on the edge of my seat the whole time.

My aunt and uncle arrived after the movie was over and we headed out to the boonies to watch the meteor shower, away from the light pollution. My uncle found a spot to park, some field next to an abandoned house that looked an awful lot like Rustin Parr's house at the end of the movie. They went and laid down in the field, but I was too terrified to get out of the truck because of that damn house after I'd just watched the movie.

I was never that big of a horror movie fan, only watching one on the rare occasion, but this movie always sat at the top of the genre for me. There's a handful or so that I've always liked, and the movie Arachnophobia gave me arachnophobia, but nothing ever had the effect of TBWP.

I was always more of a comedy fan, but after my wife died last year, I don't really get much out of it anymore. Recently, I decided to give horror another chance since death and dread have become such an overwhelming piece of my personality now, and this movie is still just as alluring as ever, and I've become an even bigger fan now than I was back then.

I've watched the movie numerous times lately. I watched some videos of Mike, Josh, and Heather answering questions about the movie on youtube (though one was hard to watch because they recorded it on the day my wife died and the date was on the screen behind them). I even watched the extended 3 hour version with all the extra scenes they've mentioned, like Mike's breakdown scene(s) and the slam poetry bit they were embarrassed about.

I also watched Blair Witch 2016, and while I liked the added lore, I found it pretty meh. The repetitive jump scares became tedious and annoying, the acting was too rigid and scripted by comparison, and I think it would've been better not to show the monster/witch/whatever that was, at least not fully. I think it would've been much better if they'd kept it lo-fi and ad-libbed like the original.

Anyway, I think I've rambled enough, so I'll just close out by saying I love this movie. It's amazing that they were able to turn $60k into something so incredible, haunting, and genuinely believable. I know it's always been somewhat polarizing and not for everyone, but I love this movie so much and it still stands firmly as my favorite horror movie ever.

I'm gonna turn off the lights and watch it again now.

A few years before I met my wife, I was in what I thought was my rock-bottom in life. My early twenties were cruel to me. I hated myself and my lot in life. I hated it so much that I was quoted numerous times saying that I didn't want to see the other side of 40.

Once I hit my "rock-bottom," I had an epiphany and worked hard to turn things around. I wanted more from life. I wanted to be a better person. I wanted to feel better about myself. I wanted to be worthy of finding love. I worked on myself for years to get to a place where I felt good enough about myself to feel comfortable asking someone else to be with me. I completely rebuilt myself from scratch. It turned out that if you hate yourself enough, it can give you access to your core settings and allow you the freedom to change things as you see fit.

One day, I finally felt like I'd reached that goal point and decided to make a Tinder profile. I matched with my wife just hours later and I was head over heels for her from the night we first started messaging. Not only was all that work worth the effort, it came with practically instant gratification once I put myself out there. We were engaged the following year, married two years after that, and we had 9.5 years together. Most of it felt like a fairy tale dream, though the last 6 months or so were getting rough between my wife's deteriorating state of mind and our relationship in general.

Then suddenly, while she was out of state visiting relatives, my wife took her own life.

For 19 months I've been in this evolving hell known as widowhood. I've cried so much that the well's run dry. I've felt joy, and the capacity to feel it, ripped away from my soul. I've felt pain so deep that it continues to hollow out what little is left of that soul and it erodes my mind.

Sometimes I find myself wondering, "Was it still worth it?"

That so called "rock-bottom" of mine was nothing compared to this. I never thought it could be possible to hate myself or my life even more than I did back then. That "rock-bottom" feels so far above my current state. All that work to be a better person. All that work to have a better life. All that work to be healthier. All that work to be worthy of love. All of that, years of effort, and this is where I end up? What was the point of all that just so I again say I hope I don't see the other side of 40?

Don't get me wrong, I don't regret meeting my wife. Life before I met her was like a black and white television, but once she appeared, everything turned to vibrant and splashing color.

Since she's been gone, so has that color, only now I know what color looks like. The world was always black and white before we met and I didn't know anything else, but now I'm taunted by that knowledge as it exists only in my memory.

I died when she did, only my corpse is still animated. I only wish the rest of me was lucky enough to die along with her.

When it comes to watching movies or TV shows, there's a profound difference in impact they have on us before we were widowed. Some of them were things we'd watch together and just gather dust on shelves or streaming libraries because they've become too painful to watch alone, and others take on a whole new light in this new realm we occupy after losing our soulmates. There's also others that we just become numb or disinterested in once we're in the aftermath of loss.

Many of my favorite movies have become unwatchable to me since I lost my wife. Most of them, my wife also loved, and a few that she would just watch with me if I put it on. Her favorite movie was one I introduced her to (The Big Lebowski), and only on her birthday was I able to stomach watching it since I lost her. I didn't like putting on movies or shows that we couldn't enjoy together, or at the very least, that she didn't enjoy herself.

That middle category, though, the ones we see in a new light in this widowed realm, have their own impact.

The other day, I watched the movie "Reign Over Me" for the first time in at least a few years. I did always like this movie, even though I'd only seen it a few times since it came out almost 20 years ago. For those who haven't seen it, it follows a character (played by Don Cheadle) who runs into his old college roommate (played by Adam Sandler) that lost his entire family in 9/11 and has been buried by PTSD, grief, and deep depression ever since. A feeling all of us know all too well.

Most people who'd watch this film would just be drama fans more connected through the lens of Don Cheadle's character as I was the last time I saw it. This time, however, I completely switched to seeing it from Sandler's role (and I might also say I appreciated his performance in this movie seemed so much more poignant and well done). The pain, the isolation, and everything about that character I understood and resonated with. It wasn't just drama fodder anymore. It was a connection. I felt every line, every character quirk, every line of dialogue, every outburst, and I understood every ounce of pain he had. It takes him a while to even open up and describe the loss, and once he does, I couldn't help but cry like I've done a few times in support group meetings.

For the rest of you, what other shows, movies, or stories have impacted you in this way? Is there something that you've seen in a new light and connected with? Perhaps someone here in this group might do well to feel that impact themselves and find that connection, or maybe even just feel a little bit more understood. For me, it's like I can point to this movie and say to someone, "Watch Adam Sandler's character in this movie, and you can see what it's like to feel like me."

A bit of a long post:

Sunday was our anniversary. It would've been our 8^(th) wedding anniversary and 11^(th) anniversary overall. Things didn't go the way I expected, and it's been different than all the other milestones I've had so far on this journey.

As of a couple of hours ago, it's been 538 days since my wife passed away. I've had all the "firsts" already, and through all of the milestones, there's always been a pattern.

The Brutal Buildup, The Slightly Less Brutal Day, and the Home Stretch.

Until this latest milestone, I've always noticed the buildup, the days leading up to any given milestone, were always the toughest. Usually harder than the day itself, especially when the milestone is just one day, but the buildup lasts the entire week leading up to it. The day itself is usually slightly easier, then afterward, it feels like I'm over the hump until the next milestone approaches. This was true for all of them in the first year. Her birthday, our anniversary, the holidays, etc. They all followed that basic pattern.

Our anniversary this past weekend had a different effect on me. In some ways, the formula has flipped around. The buildup was more gentle this time around, and it didn't dominate my mind the way it did last year. The day itself, however, outweighed that buildup.

Our Anniversary.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do that day, I just knew that I wanted to try to make it somewhat special to celebrate and honor my wife's memory. The night before, I had a dream of my wife and I on a long drive somewhere near water, reminding me of several of our weekend trips that we'd had on previous anniversaries. I took it as a message, a sign, or something along those lines, and decided to drive out to the coast. I took my wife's urn with me for a little courage as I've struggled with long drives ever since I lost her. Having what's left of her in the passenger seat gave me just enough strength to make it out there. I put on our favorite road trip playlist on the way there, which stung a bit, not having her there holding my hand or even just to converse with.

A couple of hours later, I arrived. The beach was more crowded than I expected. I was hoping to have plenty of space, but when I realized that wouldn't be an option, I just parked somewhere I wouldn't get stuck. I placed the urn beside me and started writing to my wife in my journal, trying my best to be sweet and sentimental.

After that, I put the urn and journal away, took off my shoes and socks, and walked out toward the water. I felt the warm sand and cool ocean water on my feet and tried to find peace, but I just couldn't find it. Everywhere around me, it was just other couples, families, and even that innocent sense of joy everyone else was expressing... nothing but reminders of what I've lost. It didn't take long for me to throw in the towel. I stopped in at the fish shack my wife and I had found several years ago where they serve our favorite fish tacos, but it was about the same experience inside. I was just surrounded by other couples. I couldn't feel sentimental, I was only wondering how many of those couples were also celebrating anniversaries together like the lucky assholes that they are. Once I was done eating, I threw in the towel again and decided to head back home.

The New Aftermath.

In contrast with all the other milestones to date, this time, the aftermath was even worse than the buildup. I felt 100 times worse the day after our anniversary than I did the day before. I never got off the couch for the next two days. I haven't been able to sleep on the bed since I got the call from the coroner, so that's why I'm glued to the couch instead.

There was such an edge to the depression, the grief, the pain, and everything else. I just woke up cursing the gods. Why do my eyes still open? Why couldn't death come for me in my sleep? Why am I still here for fuck's sake?!

I eventually decided to get my fat ass off the couch after a couple of days and go for a walk, but I was a zombie the whole time. I didn't even want to stop by my regular pub. Even though I was so brutally crushed by the loneliness, I just wanted to be left the fuck alone. I didn't have the energy to put on a plastic smile.

I did the same thing the next day, but I decided to stop by the pub afterward. I still wanted to be left alone, but I needed to take the edge off somehow and these walks weren't doing anything other than making me sore. A few drinks seemed to do the trick, too. I walked in a miserable pile of shit and walked out much more satisfied.

Today.

Today has been a mixed bag. I didn't go for a walk today because I had a therapy appointment this afternoon and my ankle is pretty sore from walking the last couple of days. Things weren't going so well until after therapy and another stop at the pub. I hate to say it, but frankly the only thing that seems to calm me down lately are knocking back a few. I'm too out of it during anything else. I've found myself checked out during my recent therapy appointments and support group meetings, but a few drinks will always loosen me up enough and numb the pain.

Just when I think I have an understanding on this process and the way this journey goes, things change. It's like the process has flipped and things go in reverse order. My plans for our anniversary may have backfired, but I didn't expect for everything to take a steep dive afterward. I've got a feeling I'll be glued to the couch again tomorrow.

I miss my wife. I miss being a human being.

Saturday will mark 17 months since I lost my wife Alisa. In that time, I've had the typical Widow's Fire, but nothing has ever come of it. My wife is still the last person I've been with.

My wife and I were both bisexual, though it was only through her that I was able to come to terms with my own sexuality. She was so genuine and accepting that it finally allowed me to come out of the closet, as it were.

I still have the occasional bout of the typical Widow's Fire here and there. I still crave touch and something to salve this brutal loneliness, but recently I've found that I'm only attracted to one person in the history of time... my late wife.

I'm only turned on by things that remind me of her. Someone who has similar features and/or something that sparks an intimate memory. I'll suddenly remember her soft touch, her scents, and her warmth. My insatiable attraction to her starts running wild. My lust for her is as voracious as ever, if not more so.

It's like I'm not bisexual anymore, I'm Alisasexual. I'm only attracted to my late wife. As romantic as that may sound, it's not all roses. I don't want to be alone forever... I can't be alone forever. Growing old and dying alone was always my biggest fear growing up as an illegitimate, only child to a single mother. Yet, I have no attraction to anyone else, either. As time has gone on, this sensation has only grown, and I've only become more entrenched in this paradox.

At the same time, I haven't felt less attractive myself in my entire life. I've really let myself go, gaining probably at least 75 lbs since I lost my wife, and to look behind the plastic mask on my face and under the surface personality, there is only pain and longing for my wife. I've nothing left to offer.

I miss my wife so goddamn much. The fire of my lust for her just keeps growing. If only she had a clone to hold me over.

Four days ago, I woke up with a bad feeling and then found that our cat had passed away in the night. After a long crying fit, I wrapped her up in a blanket, then later that day I brought her to the vet so they could arrange for a cremation.

This week has been pure hell. For much of it, I've tried to salve the wounds with whiskey, or at least soften the edges. Today, our kitty's ashes arrived at the vet for me to collect. What hit me the hardest were the extra pieces they included; A paw print in clay, a nose print in ink, and a clipping of her fur. Those hit me so much harder than the sight of her ashes. I broke down in tears and immediately found myself at the pub right around the corner. "Double whiskey. Rocks, please." I didn't have the strength to go straight back home without a little liquid courage.

A few hours later, I'm finally back home, placing our kitty's urn right next to my wife's urn on the shrine. I could probably arrange the prints and clippings there, too, but I don't have the stomach for it yet. One thing at a time. Having to place another urn on that shrine was painful enough as it is.

Is that what my life is now? Stacking urns beside each other as I lose what I love one soul at a time?

I've found a new aspect added to my grief this week. A growing sense of paranoia is beginning to take hold, emboldened by every little thing. Which of our pets will suddenly drop dead next? I was woken up by our younger dog this morning who yelped in pain without any real cause behind it, is she next on the list? Am I going to lose my mother sooner rather than later?

I'm stuck waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering why I have to be the designated survivor. I just want to go back to sleep, dream of my wife, and not have the displeasure of having to wake up. I had a dream the other night where my wife and I were looking at kittens, and I wish I could've stayed there, not being forced to wake up and remember that I have neither now.

She's gone. Midnight is gone. The first pet we got together is gone. Through shock and tears I write this post.

I woke up early this morning with a bad feeling... I just knew it. I had to go to the bathroom, but I was scared. I walked in and saw her laying there. She didn't greet me like she always would. I called her name... she didn't move. I gave her a pet... she was motionless.

I burst a dam of tears and started pacing around, just like when I got the call from the coroner last year. Instinctually, I wanted to tell my wife, but... I can only cry in front of her urn. I can't reach out to her, I can only sink deeper, alone. I can only have flashbacks. Flashbacks to early in our relationship when my wife found my childhood cat had just passed. Flashbacks to that call from the coroner.

All I could do was cry, hurt, and need a hug I can't get. All I could do was cry, hurt, and get angry at myself for not staying by our kitty last night when I knew deep down that she wouldn't wake up this morning. I should've been in there, snuggling with her, not letting her die alone. After the way I lost my wife... I should've been there.

I couldn't just leave Midnight laying there. I couldn't look at her like this. I looked for something to wrap her in. Upstairs in my wife's office, on her desk chair, I found a blanket that Midnight used to lay on all the time. Before she claimed the bathroom as her new room, she'd always keep my wife's chair warm. I wrapped her up in the blanket and unleashed another wall of tears as I held her in my arms. I found a box to place her in. I don't know what to do now, I don't have the strength. I can't just leave her there either, but I can't think right now.

"Little itty bitty Middy kitty," I'm so sorry. Alisa, I need you.

It hurts to even write those words.

My wife and I had 4 pets. A husky and a half (one is half border collie) and two cats. The purebred husky is one of the only things in my life that predates our relationship as I adopted her just over a year before I met my wife. The other three pets we got together. My wife and I didn't have kids, we just had our fur babies.

The oldest cat "Midnight" is circling the drain, and it won't be long before I'll be forced to say goodbye to her, too. It'll only be a matter of days or maybe even hours from now. I'm scared to even go into the bathroom where she's hanging out because I'm always worried now that I'm about to find her lifeless body.

I'm about to lose another piece of my wife. I'm about to hate myself even more because I haven't been taking care of our pets as well as I should be, but I'm incapable of parting with them. I'm about to find those tears I haven't been able to shed for a while now coming back full force. Hell, I'm already starting to cry again right now just seeing what's about to come.

This is going to be a very, very bad week.

It's a paradox of emotions that wears me down every day. This loneliness is crushing. The only thing that could cure me is not an option unless someone has a way to revive my wife from ashes.

Things would be so much simpler if I were just single, but the widower's badge was stabbed into my chest. In my bachelor years, I needed only to love myself and put myself out there, but now I am capable of neither. No amount of wisdom allows me to forgive or care for myself.

Time will not heal these wounds. It only allows opportunity for infection to set in.

I'm so tired of having no one to come home to or spend time with. I'm tired of going to the pub just so I can have human interaction. I'm tired of staring at pictures of my wife just to remember what it was like to feel loved. I hate having no one to hold and no shoulder to cry into during these times when I need it most.

I'll never truly love again. I don't even have the ability anymore to trust enough to do so. Everyone has disappeared from my life. I've been abandoned enough. At this point, I'm not capable of letting anyone in beyond the surfaces.

At the same time, I'm too young to spend forever alone. I'm too young for others my age to even slightly comprehend this hell. I've said before I could probably only accept (or trust) another widow, but being that I'm only 37, finding someone my age feels like foraging for a leprechaun. The point is moot anyway. Nobody would want what I've become, or should I say what's left of me.

Tomorrow will be 500 days since I lost my wife to suicide, and 500 days of wishing she'd have shown me some mercy and killed me first. Leaving me to rot on this rock alone is the cruelest thing she ever could have done.

In 15 months, I've had so many different types of gut punches and painful reminders, small and big. Promos for a new season of a show she loved, hearing songs she loved, or even that spam text I got today addressed to her. Of all of them, one messes with my head the most:

The doppelganger. The person you see that looks like their twin, lookalike, or impersonator.

It was maybe a month ago that I found hers, and it still pops in my head regularly. Proof is in the fact that I'm even typing about this now.

Oddly enough, her doppelganger was in a park in our neighborhood, just a couple blocks away from our house. I was just driving by on my way out to the pub one day, and when I got to the stop sign, I looked to my right, and there she was.

I was frozen in my tracks, just staring from the street. The same shape, same casual clothing, same glasses, and same colored medium-bob hairstyle. I almost got out of the car and called my wife's name.

I was in a trance of sorts. It was like I suddenly had proof that this was all a lie. Not wanting to seem like a crazy person in my own neighborhood, I drove off after a couple minutes of just staring from the street.

I've found myself struggling with denial again lately, and I'm starting to realize that event seemed to kick things off. All those inner conspiracies started screaming again. She's not dead! She just changed her identity! A thousand other theories fill my mind.

Still, a month or so later, I wonder if I should've gotten out of the car. I know it wasn't her. This person was with some other woman and a child at the playground area, and she wouldn't do all this just to come back to the same neighborhood. Logic never seemed to matter to denial, though.

I just wanted that to be her so very much...

^(Day 470)

It's the one word I haven't said and the one word I'll never say, goodbye. The word is forbidden, and when it comes to you, it's been removed from my vocabulary.

I told you this while standing beside your casket. "I will never say goodbye to you. I will only ever say I love you and I miss you more and more every day." I meant it when I said it then and I stand firmly behind that statement still. Under no circumstances will that ever change.

Even if by some miracle, someone else comes along, someone who's willing to take your leftovers, what little is left of me, all while knowing they'll always take second place in my heart. There is no version of me who will ever be willing to say goodbye to you.

Compared to you, I consider no one else to be human, let alone worthy of taking your place. Alisa, "My Chicago Fish," who made me believe in destiny and love at first sight. Our first interaction never felt as such. From the moment we first interacted, it never felt like meeting someone new. Instead, it felt as though I was catching up with an old friend I've not seen in years.

Despite what you've done to me, how you chose to leave this rock and for me to rot alone while it still dares to spin, this sentiment still rings true. I've been hurt many times before, but I've never been cut this wide and deep. I've been abandoned many times before, but never so callously. Despite the damage your choice has done to me, the word is still forbidden. I told you I'll love you forever, my love is immortal and invincible, and all you've done is prove it in the worst way.

I'm alone, I'm hurt, and I'm even occasionally angry at you, but my heart still belongs to you. You should know, you took it with you. It lies somewhere in your urn, burned to ash along with you. What few moving parts remain inside are still looking for you.

More than 15 months have passed and I still think you'll be home any day now. I still think I'll see you out the window every time I see something move. I still think you're upstairs every time I hear the house creak. I may know you're never coming home, but that doesn't mean I believe it.

I'll always love you, Alisa, and I'll never say goodbye.

I'll only say I love you and I miss you, more and more every day.

^(Day 441.)

I took off my ring today. Not because I wanted to, but because it doesn't really fit anymore. It doesn't fit because I've gained at least 60 lbs. (27 kg) since I lost my wife last year. Maybe even more, but the batteries in our scale died, and I never bothered recharging them.

My ring now rests beside hers on the necklace I wear. The impression left on my finger looks as if I'm wearing a ring made of skin.

I've taken off the ring for brief moments before, but it was always too painful. She is still and will always be my wife. Before we met, I never really believed in destiny or true love, but she changed my mind. I know that she was the one. When we first met, it never felt like introducing myself to someone new. Instead, it was like catching up with an old friend I hadn't seen in years. Instantly, we had a deep and intricate understanding of each other.

I never wanted to take the ring off. I've heard others put the ring on their right hand instead, but I'd have to get it enlarged, which I'm not sure how possible it is with the hammered design of my ring.

It's not a sign of "moving on" or even "moving forward." My body just isn't a temple to me anymore, and this is a consequence. Well, maybe it is still a temple, but one that has been plundered and desecrated.

I know that I will never truly love again. I'm still just as head over heels for my wife as I was at the beginning of our relationship. Anything that may come next is simply company, a time killer, or some other lesser form of companionship. Things that I have I've never been interested in. I was never one to look for one-night stands, casual relationships, or anything of the sort. I wanted love, a feeling I will never experience again. I'm only 37. That's a long time to sit with this curse unless I'm lucky enough for a merciful meteor with my name on it.

For those reasons, I don't think I could ever connect with anyone who hasn't been widowed. Only another widow could ever comprehend how my loyalty would still lie with someone who's no longer with us. I wouldn't want someone to think of me as their soulmate either, because if there is an afterlife, then I'm not waiting for them, I'm making a beeline straight to my wife. To anyone who hasn't been widowed, that would just be me wasting their time and love.

Today, a thunderstorm is rolling in. It started just as I began to type this. Thunderstorms always make me think of my wife. We lived in the PNW, but she was a transplant from the Midwest, and she absolutely loved thunderstorms. Even if out here, they aren't remotely as spectacular as those Midwest showstoppers.

I'm not sure if I really had a point with my ramblings today, I just felt like sharing with the only community I have left.