Personal Journal

Untitled, Dec 21

I'm depressed.
I'm on an anti-depressant - Lexoper? I think it is. So it's not as bad as if I weren't taking that. There's less fun in everything now, and I get tired haphazardly, but can't sleep more than 20 minutes except overnight.

What brings me comfort is spending a little money. I bought some miniatures, and I look forward to cleaning them and painting them. But I haven't been able to paint, either, because when I sit down to do it, well, Jean's not over there where she's supposed to be.

I paid all the bills today except the medical today. That was a relief.

My company's HR office in Salt Lake City called tonight to clear up how my insurance will work during my LOA. I tried to tell the woman how thankful I was for them, but I broke down into tears very heavily. But I got through it - told her how I've never heard of anyone in my kind of situation who has had such unyielding, flexible support from their employer, and that I would never be able to thank them enough. I think she was touched by my gratitude.

I wish I could talk to a therapist every day. But I would ramble. I don't think that people can keep up with me here - too much of it is born of the subtext of my life experiences. I'd sound crazy.

Certainly if I were talking to Jean's friend as much as I might think I would like to, I'd get her into trouble with her husband. I know you read here, and I don't usually (ever?) talk to a reader, but you've got to manage your life before you worry about me and what I'm going through. I've got the professionals, and I'm probably going to have to take more advantage of them than I have thus far.

For some reason I can't bring myself to call the airline to cancel our flight that Jean and I had for Friday. We were going to surprise Jean's family in NJ and fly back. Only her sister-in-law knew.

I'm tired of telling people "Jean died."
Someone at the hobby store today asked, innocently, if I had any "fun plans" for Christmas and I said I was going to NJ, but I didn't know if it was a "fun" plan. He thought I was making a New Jersey joke. I said I had some business there, but I didn't want to go into it. Leave it at that.

You know, at the hobby store, only one person has said to me "Sorry about Jean." The rest either truly don't know, or they know and are so uncomfortable about it that they say nothing. I find the saying nothing hurtful.

I may be tired of hearing poeple say "What can I do to help" or "How are you" etc., but I'm not tired of hearing people say "I'm sorry about Jean." Because I'm sorry too, and for you to say your sorry, I feel like we share that sorrow in that moment, and that comforts me.

But for people to ignore my hurting, well, it makes me feel like I'm just an actor in their life-play, and that I'm supposed to stick to the script, and keep them comfortable.

It's starting to hurt, but I can't yet cry about it. And I resent that. Because crying makes it feel better for a while.

I'm starting to get sympathy cards, and that makes me feel touched. I'm keeping those. Some of them have been very well written, or had great notes inside.

I feel so small behind my body. Like I'm a cardboard cutout. I've always been good at being a chameleon. I go out and get my cat food, see my vet, get juice at the store, but I feel like a wisp that could be blown away by any decent storm, and sometimes I wish I could be.

My mind keeps putting an image in my head of Jean dead in the bed. And it's trying to elicit a reaction, but I can't react yet. I get deathly sleepy at haphazard times but can't sleep more than 20 minutes. I think I said that already.

It's hard to focus on what I have to get done around her in order to head to NJ.
I'm too tired to continue writing.