It's been over a month since my boy passed and just about a month since my sweet Pepper passed away. Surprisingly I have been OK. I always imagined I would be out of service for months. But I have been hopeful. Sure, some days I fake it. But all in all, I have been OK.
Or at least I think.
The last week I have had a mad case of Bronchitis. It's been the first time in years that I was this sick. I mean, it was fine. I rested, I medicated, and I was babied by my husband and my Gracie.
Despite that, I have tried to be healthy and optimistic. I continued tracking my meals. And doing arm exercises at home. I even flat ironed my hair. Just because.
I have been very mechanical since the loss. It's weird, my productivity is through the roof. But I don't really celebrate it. Or acknowledge it. I get lost in it.
I've been keeping the apartment clean, filing away my mail, doing laundry regularly, balancing my checkbook, making appointments, even getting manicures again.
I mean, who is this person?
What I haven't been doing, though, is mourning. Somehow, I found a way to deal with my sadness like I have been dealing with my linen closet. I stuff the closet with clean towels and sheets, and then slam the door shut, as it's quite full. I get a proud level of satisfaction when I hear the door knob click, ensuring the closet won't pop open, overflowing with all my fresh linens I've shoved in there for dear luck. "Yes! For now, this closet is closed and secure! Woot!"
The problem is that I don't have an emotional door knob the ensures my emotions stay put. Whatever it is that is keeping them at bay, though, is working her ass off. I didn't think it was possible for anything about me to be this strong. But sure enough, I am trying desperately to compartmentalize all these emotions and . . . well, I don't know. Live a day when I don't cry I guess? Where I don't remember how empty my home feels. Where I don't jump, startled and convinced I heard Bam or Pepper in the other room. When I don't miss waking up to our three fur babies and my beloved, all of us curled together on our full size bed (talk about compartmentalizing lol). when I don't remember how much I miss them so so very much.
It's all starting to come undone, though. I've been moved to tears over the oddest things. and not like a tear here or there. I mean floodgates. For instance, I am on a Law and Order SVU binge sesh. And every time I see Stabler hug one of his kids, I feel the tears start to rise in to my eyes. I mean, sure, it's moving, but not "ugly cry" moving.
Or the other day I was walking one of my pups, and I caught a glimpse of 2 squirrels at Astoria Park, eating their nuts next to each other under the cherry blossoms that have amazingly complimented the beautiful greenery of my favorite park. All of sudden, coupled with my bronchitis runny nose, I started ugly sobbing. I literally had to stop for a second, pull out my tissues, blow my nose, and take a breath. All the while my poor pup client looked at me with complete judgment. Like, "dude I'm just trying to pee here. What gives."
Despite the aforementioned breakdown, I do so work very hard to prevent any crying. Because I know what's coming. It's not a tear here or there. It's a full on sob session that is about to commence. And I can't let myself become undone.
Even when I'm alone, when I enjoy crying, do I stop it before it starts. Typically, solitude crying is the best, letting out the sweet release without worrying that someone will feel uncomfortable, or worse, want to console me. But it's like . . . I am protecting myself.
From what? I don't know.
As if once I start crying, it will be impossible to stop it.
I'm trying to find a therapist again. I know I need it. All these feelings have to come out. And I'm not drinking or binge eating. I can't even sleep that much these days, which used to be my go-to coping mechanism since I was a child.
Maybe that's why I have been so productive. Because I have no other outlet.
But it's not real. And It won't last. Very much like the linen closet, no matter how strong that door knob is, there is always and inevitably a breaking point. And mine is vastly approaching.
