I dissociated so much in the last 4 days, my husband feels like a distant memory. It almost feels like my life with him was all just my imagination. How strange...i guess because it is going to be a year soon.
What does it mean to exist after going through this experience of loss and sorrow?
I am only 43, no kids, and have gotten used to the random waves of grief (at 10 mos). I now equate it with an annoying pop-up while focused on a page on the internet. The thought occured to me yesterday while immersed in a mundane, predictable "manhwa" and after removing the ad, its like doing it all over again, the back button, exit, refresh, so I can just get back to where I was and click forward. Or simply watching a show you are so focused on and then "ad wait 20 seconds to skip". So in a nutshell, our daily lives as "widow/ers" now involves "ads of grief" while being immersed in the "living and surviving"--the primordial instinct of all living things.
If this primordial instinct to survive, with an idea of "only the strong survive", continue to find meaning in life, is because of some higher power, or merely conditioning, I find the argument behind this conditioning weak.
So why do I, a mere pleb, who can't even open a f***ing jar or procreate so I can probably give birth to humankind's saviour, exist? I mean, there was a time of dinosaurs, and then boom--annihilation! So now, for humans, any deviation from the norm, or standards, treated as an illness, that needs to be cured so we can continue with life. Some treatments fail, some succeed and life goes on.
I don't know, I guess this is what they call existential crisis. There are so many questions that no one knows the answer. Religion will say it's the higher power, science will say along the lines of evolution. Who knows. But I ask anyway.
His birthday is coming up, his first since passing away. So, as I expected, I am undoubtedly emotionally crashing and burning.
The flashbacks keeping coming, likely because another "milestone" is fast approaching. Today, I keep thinking about the number of times I told him "It's okay. You can rest. I will be alright" when he was lying unconscious on his death bed, because I could not bear watching him die.
Now, I realize i lied to him...and I lied to myself. I do not even understand why we say those things to our dying loved ones (well, I did, his brother did, and from experience as well watching others say it to their dying loved ones). Why do we feel the need to assure them that they no longer need to worry about us? "Rest in peace". Ugh, would it even matter? Comfort the dying with lies so the living can shatter to pieces in the aftermath.
I am not alright and I may be highly functioning, I am but dead inside. Inside, its chaos, verging on madness. I am not alright but on the surface, I play the part of someone who is. Smile and laugh on cue...or as required.
This is exhausting.
Its been over 10 months...oh well, they did say it takes at least a year or two to actually "feel better". So I guess I am almost halfway there?
What a joke.
Thanks for reading...another one into the void.
We may get ahead of this grief and of this hard life.
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But what good does it do when the destination is still a life without them?
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Why am I trying so hard to get there?
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#questionstothevoid
Gaaaahhhh, I hate Mondays....Wednesdays (day my husband died)...and weekends....
"You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?"
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"Letting the days go by..."
"Letting the days go by..."
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This journey is interesting, bizarre in a lot of ways.
At 10 months, the days seem lighter (although they still feel somewhat pointless). I think I know enough now the patterns of grief, even if I still can't predict when the next grief wave crashes. So I know, likely at some point this week or the next, I will feel the heavy sorrow and the hopelessness attached to it.
I find the daily mental challenge to survive exhausting. Every morning, I push myself to get out of bed, sit on the side of the bed, and say, okay, toilet time for my little doggy. Then I do the usual routine for myself and for my dog: morning treats for him, coffee for me, emails, check job listings, think about the chores I need doing, play with the dog...nothing dramatic, just the ordinary activities of daily living everyone is wired to do.
Every day seems to be a cycle of waking up, grabbing on the small pockets of motivation that appear almost like eureka moments, filling the hours with whatever, and then ending the day, binge watch something on tv or reading something to take my mind off my current stage of life.
It almost feels like a punishment to go through grief at this level while in the middle of trying to build a meaningful life (i am only in my early 40s).
Today, while sipping my second cup of coffee with two espresso shots, staring out the dreary weather (winter from where I am), I asked myself, yet again:
What will be my reward at the end of all this surviving?
What do I get from learning to carry grief?
"Would we forget everything someday?"
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"Maybe if we're happy about our present"
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"And if we are?"
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"Then we would recall the past less and less"
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"That's a shame"
I probably need something to dull the feeling.
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Or maybe I should go out more, only to come home and feel the sadness again.
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Or may be, as people keep telling me, one day, I will wake up and find myself looking forward to what is left of my future again.
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Until then, I suppose Ill keep trying integrating back to society, performing, producing, even though I hate the world for taking away half of me.
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I mean, what am I meant to do now?
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I dont have children, I cant have children. Even my skills to thrive in life involves staring at a computer screen, typing...not some mind blowing meaningful contribution to the world, only make someone richer.
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Why are we so aware of our suffering?
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Why does my consciousness seem to dwell so much on my loss?
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And why am I only in my 40s?
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Who the F knows.
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Now I have to look for a job so I can keep working and paying through whatever this is. I do need to be able to afford my dog's lifestyle.
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I walk past his guitar collection every single day (nine of them) and everyday I tell myself "I should start getting rid of these". I don't play guitar.
Today was different. Seeing those guitars, along with a storage full of his hobby stuff reminded me of how talented and skilled he was. On top of that, his line of work was the kind of work that meaningfully contributed to society.
And so, it pulled me back into the most exhausting question: why did I get to live and not him? I mean, I know he was better equiped in life more than me. He was also less of an emotional mess than I am. Now, I am tasked with getting rid of the things that he should still be using.
Life is such an ass.
We lose our identity, the most important person in our life. Our world crumbles, yet we keep moving forward.
Time doesnt stop. Our lungs keep breathing. It feels strange and at the same time wrong that our bodies just keep carrying us into tomorrow. Only to continually search for that joy, that contentment, that peace...but the irony is we live in a world where everything comes with a price. So it feels like a catch 22. We survive one tragedy only to move on to the next.
The oddity of human nature and survival feels so weird.
What a strange predicament I am in. These introspections have become a really annoying habit.
I saw a video about Orpheus in my fyp today. I've known the myth since I was younger, but never really thought about it back then. It was easy for me then to say "i would just keep walking forward".
But would you really? Would you turn around if you didnt hear the footsteps, the presence, or the knowing that they were behind you?
Honestly, I would now (mostly because the universe has given me major trust issues).
Ive realized the cruel irony of love and loss. Love gives us the strength to face anything because we arent alone. We learned to walk life with someone beside us, anchored by their footsteps, their presence, and the reassurance that we are not alone.
And then they're gone. Suddenly it's just silence, no more reassurance, and somehow, that sudden absence makes us feel so powerless, so we look back again and again. Grief, i guess, is just a long painful process of learning how not to look back, figuring out how to walk in the quiet alone.
Just me in my thoughts tonight. Listening to my dog breathing. This is my life now.
I woke up, appreciated the sun on my face for a brief second, and then cursed at life.
Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier if I just compared myself to those who are worse off. At least I am not trapped in a basement somewhere, right? I only lost a husband, a home, and a job. But it's strange how some people are just naturally wired to be grateful, viewing life as a "blessing" no matter what. Carrying the love of their deceased spouses forward. I guess I used to be one of those grateful for life no matter what. I am just not there anymore.
I just finished watching Dracula 2025. I now fully understand Vlad's grief and love. He carried his love and sorrow for 400 years, basically it has become his existence.
But the ultimate irony, he took the offer to end his life when he finally finds her again, so she can live hers. Its like wanting to hold on the person/pain, and yet at the same time wanting to finally be in peace.
It is a tragic reminder of what it means to carry love that survives time, and the choices tied to deep loss. It somehow captured the exhausting, eternal weight of grief.
Pretty sure I just guaranteed my immortality by being this prepared. I just locked in where my husband's and my ashes are going.
The universe operates on horror movie logic: it only likes surprises and jump scares. If I had known that, I should have out-planned my husband's future by setting up a million-dollar insurance policy or something equally exaggerated. Then he’d probably still be alive today.
Its amazing how we just keep going when there is nothing left in the tank. This grief is such an absolute drag.
Its almost 10 months...lets try again tomorrow...
Ah, the joys of trying to find tiny pockets of peace.
To those of you whp have actually managed to finally see the light at the end of the tunnel--i hope you at least awarded yourself a nice gold star.
Apparently this is the Baader–Meinhof phenomenon: once something becomes significant in your life, you start noticing it everywhere.
In my case, my brain magnifies the word 'husband':
Everywhere I go:
"My husband will..." "Me and my husband..." "My husband has..."
Still feels like the universe continually looks at me and my grief saying, "You know what would be funny?" Me listening to husband conversations while mine is in an urn.
What a cruel joke.
FML.
Last night, before falling asleep, I had solid plans for today. Today, absolutely none of those happened.
Instead, I just slept in, lingered in bed when I woke up, ruminated thinking about how my mornings were when my husband was alive, and eventually forced myself to make coffee and sit in silence with my dog.
It really feels like a losing battle sometimes. Honestly, most times so far anyway, even at nine months into this weird, all-consuming experience.
Nine months in, and the longing and sadness still rule my life. I used to think I was special, being singled out by the universe because of all the challenges being thrown my way. Now I see it differently, the only people who are truly "special" are those sitting on pampered thrones, entirely unable to relate to the rest of the world, oblivious to how their unethical/morally questionable decisions impact the majority.
It seems that we are but mere pawns in this cruel world.