Where Does the Good Go?

Where do you go with your broken heart in tow? What do you do with the leftover you? And how do you know when to let go? Where does the good go? Where does the good go?

The couch. I apparently go to the couch, as I'm sick for the 900th time this year, but that doesn't seem to be where the good goes. I don't actually expect to go anywhere and find "the good". I know better than to think that happiness is a physical thing that lives outside of me, but lately it seems to be lost somewhere in the depths of my insides.

Maybe it's the holidays. (Way harder this year than I was prepared for. Please end already.) Maybe it's this sinus infection. (I've decided that my immune system died with Mark.) I'm sure having my period isn't helping. (I didn't manage much more today than sleeping, crying and eating carbs & chocolate.) Also, my best friend, Shaela, and my roomies are all traveling right now, and I am apparently entirely dependent on them being around. (Who am I going to text while they're all gone?????) If I hadn't somehow gotten laundry done in between all the wonkiness of the day, I think I'd have been disqualified from adulting. I may have taken a nap on the stairs after moving my towels to the dryer, but I at least stayed in the game. 

I don't know how else to say it except that nothing seems to fit anymore. Sure, there have been moments, but for the most part, everything from the BEFORE is like a square peg to the round hole of the AFTER. And, whether I like it or not, my life is now divided into all the things before Mark's suicide and all the things after. This doesn't necessarily mean that it has to always be that way or that I'm permanently stuck with this mentality, but it is what's there by default. I don't even have to think or apply any intentional effort when it comes to categorizing any and all things into these two time frames or categories. It makes sense to me that his suicide was a line of demarcation. I'm certain there will be other pivotal events in my life, but for now, this one is the greatest. Life seemed however it seemed before; it seems a completely different way now. And anything in the overlap is a bit of a blur in which nothing quite fits. 

Sweet Jesus, it's like puberty, only worse. 

About six months ago, a dear friend met me for dinner. It was my first time "out" in several weeks. I was, at that point, nearly two months into a period of anxious hibernation, and I was grateful that we were the only patrons in the restaurant. I had just passed the "1-year-thing".

Note: I will never call July 2nd Mark's "angelversary" because that's stupid. I also don't like calling it "the anniversary of his death" because I just don't like it. I'd call it the "#-year mark" except that everything with the word 'mark' in it bothers me. Not only is "Mark" one of the most common names for men, but the word 'mark' is a staple in everyday English. You can see how this is an issue, so I've settled with calling it the "#-year thing...". The other members of my  support group for suicide survivors agree that there's really no other way of putting it. Also, the ellipsis (...) is essential, as to state this term properly, one must let their voice trail off at the end to emphasize the upset of even having to reference such a day. But back to dinner with my friend...

It was at that restaurant that my friend told me that how it occurred to him was that I had been robbed of myself. Put simply, I seemed lost. And I couldn't agree more. I really did feel lost, like I no longer knew who I was. It wasn't that way in the early months after Mark died when I was in so much shock that I don't think I was even capable of feeling lost. Then I got busy and distracted myself from feeling lost for several months. Then I got tired, partially from being so busy, but probably also in part from pretending I didn't feel so lost. I spent most of the summer and fall feeling okay with being lost, doing little more than going to work and reading books. I started to re-watch the LOST series on Netflix, but even that didn't feel right. I'm happy to say that a lot has shifted, and I've started "doing things" again. I say that in a general sense because I'm still not quite sure what it is that I'm doing or why. I just know I'm doing things, which is, on some levels, better than sitting at home being too afraid to leave the house and do things. 

Now, I do things and still feel lost. I've only just started to see why running has been so hard, and it's all tied up in Mark and how we were running buddies before we dated. My job is pretty great, but I started it about seven months after Mark died; thankfully, it wasn't caught up in the BEFORE. I've started to do some volunteer work like I used to, but I'm sort of just going through the motions. I make very selective plans with friends because I don't want to show up somewhere and feel lost. That, and about a million other anxiety-induced reasons and excuses. Sometimes I want to run away and live somewhere else, but where the heck would I go? It is appealing, though, because then I might actually BE lost in a new place, which would line up with my already FEELING lost. Maybe I'm bored. I pass on food sometimes because, eh, I've eaten it before. I often go to bed pretty early because nothing else sounds good. Then I get annoyed when I'm up late from doing something about which I felt lost because then I've lost sleep after already feeling lost while awake. That's like adding insult to injury. 

Is anybody else getting lost in the ramblings of this post???

In short, I feel lost in my own life. Nothing's wrong; things are actually pretty okay overall, but I don't want to be just okay. My experience is that I'm trying to live someone else's life, and that 'someone' is the Maggie from BEFORE. I keep doing things that are familiar, and it's not working. It seems odd to continue living life the way I did BEFORE when things are clearly not as they were BEFORE. How can things just carry on after Mark killed himself? Really, how? I've never had something stop me in my tracks so repeatedly as knowing Mark killed himself. My husband killed himself. MY husband. How that sentence is even possible is beyond me, so I don't see how life can go on as it was before because it's not. It's been almost eighteen months, and it still seems like a ridiculous lie. Going through Mark's suicide and then going "back to normal" just doesn't make sense; it doesn't fit. 

Alas, I think it's time for me to get out of my comfort zone (Let's be serious; it's not even comfortable in here.) and make some choices. I want a lot of the same things I wanted BEFORE: to make a real difference and impact on people; to challenge myself and push the limits of my body; to try new things even when I'm afraid; to continue learning until I die; to spend my time with people who lift me up; to share my own experiences in such a way that it inspires others. Now, in the AFTER, I have a feeling that all of that will probably look a bit different from how I had imagined. 

Stay tuned for more posts as I discover how all of this newness in the AFTER is going to look. 

Disclaimer: I am 100% responsible for working with my doctor to address my depression and anxiety in a safe and healthy manner. If you're feeling depressed, talk to a professional. And also talk to friends. *smiles* It helps!