I pretty much ploughed into what needed to be done, and have barely resurfaced into a normal life. Every time I stick my head above water, I choke.
Which didn’t make sense to me.
Surely I needed air? To breathe? To survive?
Quite literally, keeping my head down, and doing all the admin, and the funeral arrangements, and making sure everyone got what they wanted for the funeral (within financial and respectful reason) meant keeping my head down and getting on with it.
I noticed the illnesses whenever I tried to relax. First and foremost, it’s the lack of sleep. I fall asleep, at a reasonable hour, and then wake up, at a normal time, and wonder why I feel like I haven’t slept in approx. 14 years. I put my FitBit back on to monitor my sleep – turns out I was getting 3 hours a night. 7 hours in bed, up to 4 hours restless and/or awake. People suggested various forms of get-you-to-sleep methods.
Falling asleep is rarely the problem.
Staying asleep seems beyond me.
And of course it’s always accompanied by the most awesome and unpleasant dreams. Last nights dream included my left arm suddenly being covered in welts, which suddenly started to swell and split open and then my whole arm was bleeding over someone’s t-shirt, but it’s ok because I was on a plane going to New York.
I do love New York.
Closely followed by lack of sleep, quite understandably, is the nausea. Never actually being sick, just that constant desire to throw up everything I ever ate, everywhere. Food is a bit hit and miss. Crisps and tea makes a surprisingly sustainable diet, however.
Inevitably, migraines came back full force, too. I haven’t had regular migraines for a long time, so when they do come, I’m kinda laid back about them. They hurt like a motherfucker, but I can deal because I know it’ll be gone eventually and I won’t see another one for a long while.
HAHAHAHAH not this time.
Wave after wave of migraine after migraine.
Too many times I’ve had to ask The Mr to come home early, whilst wondering if I was even safe to pick up The Smalls from school, or stand in front of the oven and make something that looked like dinner. Migraines are asshole. Proper fucking assholes.
As if the pain itself isn’t bad enough, the fact that it takes days to recover is a frigging ball ache. I don’t have time to be feeling like I’m recovering from the flu (dealing with the fucking nausea).
Last week’s ailment was a new one. Extreme stomach cramps followed by trips to the bathroom. Ohhhhh deeeeeeeeep joooyyyyy.
I hate that the pain only comes on when I get super tense, usually talking about one of the things I pretty much don’t ever want to talk about again. It’s weird to think that a subject can take its toll so bad, that not only do you repel it mentally, but physically, too.
I feel incredibly and desperately broken.
The thought of turning to my “family” for help and support fills me with dread. The few times I’ve tried, has secured the belief that the backlash is never ever worth it.
So, tomorrow morning, we go to the crematorium. And do the funeral. And on Wednesday, I have to collect his ashes. And then, because no one has agreed to what they want doing with the ashes, I have to do that thing where life carries on as normal.
Everything goes back to the way it was, minus one person. Which shouldn’t make any difference, since I had no connection with that person. But I feel like I should anticipate a backlash, somewhere, somehow. And I don’t want it.
I’ve done everything I can to make this as easy as possible for the rest of the family, and for his friends…and I’m going to say this out loud for the first time, but…I don’t feel like I’ve gotten any respect for it. My brother, granted, and having spent time with me, has begun to come to understand what I’m trying to do to help. Since I’m pretty much the outsider (and no…no it’s not entirely through my choice, and no…no I did not push everyone else away), I figured the only thing I could do in a situation where I could do something, was make it easier for everyone else. Admin is a shitty job, but someone had to do it. I was in a position to do it. So I did.
It was the least I could do, I thought, at the time. Turns out, it was way more than I could ever have done, because I’m pretty much broken from doing it.
And after all is said and done, I’m writing this and thinking to myself, “where is my support? Where are the people who understand me? Where are those who are thankful, grateful, appreciative of all I’ve done?”
I hate when people do that thing where they’re all, “yeah, but look at what I did for you! I did so much, I wasn’t even asked!” It seems so pathetic, so overly dramatic, so needy, and yet here I am, doing it myself. We all have needs.
I’m tired of being tired. I have lost track of how many times I’ve said that over the last few months.
I keep thinking this horrible nightmare, which replays itself over and over and over, in my head, a million times a day…I keep wondering when will it end. I hope it ends soon. I don’t think it really will.