I feel different. Not like different from a month ago, just different from when Dave was still here and I found life so fascinating still. But I guess the important part is that I feel, and I know it’s me who is feeling. I truly miss Dave so much more these days though. Much of the numbness has worn off and the shock is barely recognizable, and it’s clearly more evident what is lacking in my life – Dave.
I got a tattoo this week. I think Dave would’ve liked it. He was meant to be designing one for me, but he never quite got around to it. So I got one for him – and for me. I can see it when I want and it is a subtle reminder of better days.
But it’s hard to imagine that days were once good. I had worked so hard for years and years to be able to put a positive spin on life. I was good at it too, for the most part, despite being a writer. But it all came crashing down when Dave died. I can’t pretend that I can think my way out of hurting. I can’t pretend that there aren’t real horrors and pains in this world. And I get it now how one event, just one single event can change the course of my life without my consent. To ignore everything and push through by thinking “positively” wouldn’t be realistic. There is good and bad in life. Highs and lows. Ups and downs. I still can’t even wrap my head around Dave’s death – Dave not being here anymore – it doesn’t make sense. I am still processing it all. It’s not real. It’s like a movie I watched a long time ago or something that happened to someone else. Most of the time I don’t even feel present. It’s like I’m watching my life happen from far away. I watch me speak, I watch me choose my words, I watch me lift my hand or walk, but I’m always so curious as to how the hell I can keep moving my body when I feel I’m no where in it. Perhaps this is some form of protection? I know that I’m not very actively involved in life these days. I work, I eat, I try to sleep, I get sick, I get mosquito bites, but I’ve kept things very simple and very uncomplicated. The moment anything appears to get complicated I close up. I become dumb. I can’t think anymore. And then I get overwhelmed. I just shut down. It’s hard to deal with anything more just yet.
I can feel bits of me coming back to life though, but they’re different, and much of them I have to get to know again – this isn’t the brain and personality I had in early June.
It makes me sad still. I think it always will. But I’m also sad for what I lost of myself. I have read that next to losing a child, losing your partner is the hardest thing a person can go through. I get it now. It changes so much of your life. Losing a friend is one thing, but losing your lover, your partner, your future, your dreams, your soulmate – well, what else is left? I had found the most amazing love with Dave. And while he’s gone on to the next stage of existence, I am still here having to live out the rest of mine without him. Life was so much better with him here. But it’s all so different now. And I’m different. And I know nothing can ever be the same, I know that I will never be the same. I know that I will never be that happy ever again because I will always know that he’s not here. But life is meant to change, and we can think and think and think, but there’s no easy button, and there’s no coasting speed. We can’t just have a method for getting through things. The rules change suddenly here – and it doesn’t matter how closely you pay attention. This place can rock your life and leave you wondering what happened to that life you were so good at living once upon a time.