I cope and I cope and I cope and I cope and I have a good attitude and I carry the hell on and can laugh at life plenty and I sleep better now but whenever I think of the widow aspect of my life I just want to die since day one, and that feeling has not lessened over time. I just find the idea of facing the futility and pointlessness and absurdity and sadness and emptiness of this life makes me want to die, and it probably always will. Am I going to kill myself? No.
I even went on a diet/recovery plan so I’d stop *slowly* killing myself being circus fat. I do counseling once a week through IFS and mindfulness meditation and step work. I bought a treadmill. I meditate every day. I do grief work daily since day one. I talk to trusted friends and am totally in touch with my emotions and express them. I don’t take drugs. I don’t drown myself in alcohol. I cut down on caffeine.
I even work from home almost two years (we will see if I can continue that or not). I light candles. I make myself do things every single week that gets me out of my comfort zone. I let myself rest or sleep late when I need it. I make sure to have completely alone time and allow myself to have my own space. I try to volunteer to help in a variety of ways. I cleaned up my yard. I had a handy man mend things. I am vigilant about home security and I hold onto the railings on the stairs now. I pay my bills. I take vitamins.
I go to every doctor appointment they want me to make/attend. I go to the dentist. I keep listening to educational lectures and learn new crafts and skills every month. I make more salads. I drink more water than I ever have. I intermittently fast. I see a nutritionist. I stopped jumping up and bending and reaching for things too fast in case I pull something now, ha ha. I stretch before and after an exercise machine.
I write my feelings out. I say no more often. I work on guilt and on anger. I make new relationships and tend old ones. I talk to him a lot. I read Stoicism. A lot of it. I take pictures and do other therapeutic things. I try to work on my business (7 days a week but at a great pace). I wash my car. I watch birds and bunnies in my yard. I enjoy every sunset and sunrise I catch. I enjoy the rain and the sea wind and the sound and vistas of the sea. I enjoy the trees and flowers.
I decorate for the holidays. I answer the phone instead of avoiding everything and everyone for days and days. I get surgeries if I need them, I get tests, I take pills for ailments, I clean my sinuses, I shower regularly, I brush my teeth, I wash my clothing, I don’t let clutter or mess pile up more than a couple days and I try to keep things neat and even manage to half the time. I cleaned out the old broken furniture and bought and deliver and arranged new ones. I try to make the home peaceful and lovely. I bought new loafers after wearing my all my 15 year old shoes out. I bought some clothing to replace my (literally every single shirt) clothing with holes in them. I colored my gray roots. I cut my dead ends. I cut my nails. I kiss his pictures. I think of the bad along with the good to be more balanced.
I practice gratitude. I do errands whenever energy and hope seize me like sunshine and renewal. I admit my many mistakes without freaking out too much and try to hope to do better. I acknowledge my strong points more now. I listen to others more. I follow others less often and turn toward my instinct more now. I try to live in the moment.
I’m doing what I am supposed to be doing, whatever that means, and I still want to die when I stop and think what life is, what death is, how absurd this is. I just want to die. I want to die. I want this to end. I’ll never ever kill myself. Truly, I won’t.
I know death is coming for me one day not too far away. So there is no point in hurrying the inevitable. It’s just interesting how banal every thing is, whether you do wrong or you do right, whether you go carpe diem mode or whether you’re a drone… you may feel better far more often living a more conscious and dynamic true to your self life, sure… but the banality of life in its absurdity, and the fact that we will love people we will never see or feel or know ever again in this life or upon death, the final black veil of nothingness, the descent without a landing, that it will all have been just for the fuck of it now in the moment, and not for a greater purpose or meaning.
Maybe that’s what makes it so intense I suppose? Maybe love wouldn’t exist if we were eternal or if an afterlife actually existed in a realm where we remained our personas attached to our current bodies and memories?
Maybe we need annihilation for love and that’s the trade off, that’s the human sacrifice for a handful of golden moments in a lifetime of suffering, a few shining golden moments you hope you’re clever enough to catch before the curtain drops.
And even if it ever opens again, and you fall into some kind of eternal return, you won’t be you, you won’t remember, you’ll have to do this again and again and again, perpetually alone, born alone, torn from love, dying alone, the shadow enfolds you as you un-become, and born again possibly, recycle your energy but not your story, and not your love, an ouroboros of energy forever chewed up and spit out by the cosmos, by logos, like some joke you fall asleep on just before they whisper the punchline.