“I don’t want to be nice! I don’t want to be good!” Years ago while working in a department store I heard a four year old shout this over and over again all the way out the door. It has given me a chuckle off and on over the years ever since because, haven’t we all felt that way at one time or another? But recently, in the face of grief, protracted angst and yes-depression, I don’t just feel that way-I get it-to my very bones. I’m tired of making nice to casual friends who want me to make room for them in my life so I can hear about dance recitals and dog antics and how their husbands are this and that and never good enough. I’m tired of letting the façade of normal creep over my face in a learned, albeit not full, smile as someone goes on and one about how to eradicate some pest from their lawn or some other random thing. I’m tired of pretending that it’s okay for them to continue on in our “relationship” as if everything is normal now that it’s been over a year since John was ripped away from me and I should be okay.
I’m sick and tired of having to bite my tongue when I think of John or miss John or want to talk about how effing, bloody freaking hard each day can be because they, these casual friends are uncomfortable talking about it, especially now since it’s been “such a long while now” and of course for them it has been. For them life has moved forward and quite frankly on. It wasn’t their person, their constant, their touchstone for life so they have been able to do that. For them an enormous hole wasn’t ripped into their reality, their Universe or their soul. They are okay. I am not. They don’t want to hear, see or know that I am not okay and ‘can we please just talk about the weather, their children, their new stupid car instead of anything of value, of measure, of depth?' Let’s just pretend the world is fine for me, because the word is fine for them and they really don’t want to know it is anything different than that.
I guess I’m feeling snarky or let’s just call it-today I’m pissed off and bitchy. I miss my husband. I miss his kindness, his love and his touch and I’m sick-literally my head hurts, my ulcer is back, my body aches and oh my gosh I’m so weary, so tired! I’m sick of pretending that being a reasonable and dependable person is who I am. I’m not. I’m a mess, period. And honestly, I’m fine with that.
For me the reality that John is NEVER, ever, ever coming back and that it really is just me trying to figure out myself and my life and anything else that comes up is just really beginning to sink in. I’m terrified to make the leaps I need to make but miserable where I stand currently. I don’t want to hold it together anymore. I want to not only drop my basket, but hurl it at the wall and then stare at it fuming because who the hell cares about pretending to be okay, good, nice or sane when all of me is howling inside that I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be nice to others who can’t admit that currently I am slightly out of my mind and its okay that I am because John dying really blows! I don’t want to be good and do all the things I’m supposed to do that are responsible and dependable because honestly I can barely get the dog taken care of properly and so who the bleep cares about lawn care, garbage or appointments, John is DEAD. DEAD should trump all that other bullsh*t. Unfortunately most people don’t see it that way and really only others who have endured or are enduring it can get it.
I really feel like I’m done. I’ve had it. I don’t want to play nice with the world at large anymore because they can’t and don’t want to accept that, this occasionally babbling barely pulled together person is who I am right now, and that it’s okay to be exactly that. I want to go away where I can just be what I am. Sad. Bereft, Angry. Scared. And most of all lonely for John. I want to cry out to all of those around me and their expectations-UNCLE.
Anyone else feel like this? Thanks for reading this rambling rant. I always know I can post up here and know that somewhere out there someone else is thinking or feeling the same.