Overwhelmed...

I can't do this all on my own.
I am far too broken.
Everything is so overwhelming...

No matter how hard I try I cannot get back finding any type of normalcy. I try to go out and do something and I physically just cannot do it. Emotionally, I am a walking on a landmine field, and with every step another bomb goes off sending me into a fury of emotions. I can't seem to accomplish any of the tasks at hand. I am falling apart, my home is falling apart, my life is falling apart. Even the mundane everyday tasks of my life seem to be too much for me to handle.

Michael and I were the type of couple to drop everything if someone needed help. Yet, in my time of need I am unable to ask for help. It is not in my nature. I wish it were different, but it is who I am. Everyone has told me, "if you need anything call". Obviously, I am not going to call. I shouldn't have to call. My husband is dead, my world is shattered... You would think that those close to me would realize I am going to need help.

It seems very few people have been able to look past themselves and their own needs the way Mike and I always had for them. It feels as if I am just an afterthought. It is only after their needs have been fulfilled and the time is convenient for them that maybe, if I am lucky they just might think about me and if I need some help. It makes me feel so sad. So angry. So alone.

Attempt at normalcy...FAILED!

I decided to go out to a comedy club with a friend. It was my first real social outing since Mike died. After about 2 hours into the night things went bad. I got nauseous, overly hot, my neck and shoulders started aching, and I was on the verge of passing out. My ears were ringing, I was having a hard time speaking, and tunnel vision was starting. Luckily, I was able to get myself somewhere cold and I concentrated on breathing and it passed. I think perhaps it was a mix of my blood pressure meds, some anxiety, and the bad food at the club.

I just want nothing more than to have one normal day. One day where I can just be Jess, not Jess Rodak the 29 year old widow who's husband died in her bedroom. Is it too much to ask for one day where I can forget my troubles and just enjoy myself?

Two Weeks...

It's been two weeks since Mike has been gone. Thanks to Ativan I am finally able to get through the day without the horrible anxiety attacks. Perhaps now I can begin to face some of those important tasks at hand without having a nervous breakdown. Unfortunately, I am not allowed to drive because my blood pressure is dangerously elevated due to the anxiety. Hopefully the meds will kick in soon...

I am finally finding that the days are getting easier as opposed to harder. I am even sometimes able to look at a picture of Mike and not bawl my eyes out. I am beginning to see that I still have a future ahead of me and even though Mike is gone, he will be a large part of my future in many ways. I have begun reading, and finding a lot of comfort in a few books on widowhood, grieving, and moving on after the loss of a loved one.

I have managed to start sorting through Michael's clothing. I am finding that I am keeping quite a bit more than I thought I would. There are so many shirts that have sentimental value. However, I am finding that it is quite easy to look at a shirt and know which friend he would want me to give it to as well. It is a good thing the man had a million shirts!

I am so thankful for my friends. No matter where in the world they are or how long it has been since we last spoke, they are present in my life sending encouragement. It is times like these you truly learn who your "real" friends are. I am especially thankful for my Kate. She is not only helping me to get through the end of this chapter, but she is also providing a way for me to look forward to the beginning of my new chapter.

Baby Steps

Mike has been gone 12 days, but it feels like an eternity. The days following his funeral have no definition, every day is the same mundane existence. I can't bring myself to do much more than take care of my dogs. I am so empty inside. I feel as if my soul has been drained.

I need to start a forward progression. The longer I let myself sit in this limbo, the harder it will be in the long run. I still have not slept in our bedroom, however I did manage to sleep in the house alone twice. Tomorrow I plan on doing a thorough cleaning and de-cluttering of the bedroom with the help of a friend. I am going to start sorting through Mike's clothes deciding what has enough meaning to me that I want to keep, and the rest I will give to his friends whom have always coveted his t-shirt collection. I need to reclaim the bedroom as a place of solitude and relaxation.

The dream is over.

It seems that when someone close to you dies, people often say that it feels like a bad dream. For me it is a bit different. When I look back at our life we had together, it almost seems too good to be true. It feels almost as if it was all just a wonderful dream, and never really happened. I was so happy, so full of love, so content... And now that the 8 year dream is over it is back to the harsh reality that is my life.

Stumbling through...

I feel like half of me died on the bedroom floor with Mike that day. Without him I am no longer whole. I am half human, stumbling through life barely living. Sitting here in our home, everything reminds me of our life together. Instead of finding comfort in his belongings, I find nothing but pain and sorrow. They are cruel reminders that I will never see his smile or feel his touch. I find joy in my memories of him and our time together, but sitting here in his home, the home where he grew up and our first house together as husband and wife, is almost too much right now. If it were not for all of our dogs, I fear that I would just run away from the pain. But I have too many responsibilities keeping me here.

Speaking of the dogs… We have a house full. I breed Chihuahuas and we owned 8 of them together along with 2 German Shepherds. Yes, that is 10 dogs total! 10 dogs to frantically run around the house crying, searching for Mike on a daily basis. They are so confused. Watching the door at night when he would have been due to come home, sitting under his computer desk waiting for him to come check email, browse the net or play one of his games. When I cry they are all right here to comfort me. Piled on my lap and at my feet, they kiss away my tears and often cry right along with me. My pain is their pain. I cannot even begin to fathom what it would be like if we had children instead of dogs…

Numb.

Today is difficult. It is my first full day alone at home since Mike died. There is so much I need to get done. But here I sit, numb, hiding behind my laptop. I cannot find joy in anything that used to bring me pleasure. I force myself to eat though all I want to do is puke.

I am so tired. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually, I am just a shell of the woman I was with him. I am not angry. I am sad, lonely, and full of anxiety. I understand that it was his time to go home. I can see how many people’s lives he touched in so many ways. But I miss him so much. Our eight years together we fit in more than some couples do in 25 years. I am so grateful for that. Still, I would give anything in this world to spend just one more hour with him.

I am lost without Mike. He was my perfect soul mate, my best friend. For the last 8 years I was so content being Mike’s girlfriend/fiancé/wife that I lost touch with who I am as an individual. Now, here I sit all alone, not knowing who I am or what I am going to do now that he is gone.