I’m very tired these days.
Tired of being sad, tired of wondering “is this IT?’ as far as progression or healing will go.
Tired, physically not only with work, but the fact that I try to exhaust myself with running, yoga, occasionally purposefully not meeting my daily caloric intake – don’t care. Tired
Mostly, I’m tired of pretending I’m OK.
Crappy thing, I think my friends, neighbours and some of my family are tired of me not being OK. of changing my mind. of not being sure.
Like many people in the first few months after John’s death who just wanted me to “move on”, my close people want me to move on, as well.

I don’t know what to say. It’s been almost 2 years, and I’m functioning, without a doubt. I’m thriving some would say. Dance, running, back to work, sailing lessons and renovating the home, painting etc… there is no shortage of trivial, yet rewarding things to keep you busy in the first world. But this is IT. This is as good as it will get. Those activities are empty actions.

I think about john, the way he died, and try to understand WHY he died every single minute of every hour, under the surface. Instead of it being an ‘in-your-face-grief’ it’s a weeping tile, a dried out river bed, a light breeze. It’s always there. Whispering, tugging, haunting.

And that haunting is exhausting. It wants to talk to you all of the time, but you’re trying desperately not to cry today. You want to laugh and not wish he was here to laugh, as well. You want to finish a race and not look for him at the finish line. You want so much you will NEVER have again.
I’m not trying to be a martyr to suicide, it just is. This. Is. It.

I feel like I have to adjust to not just a “new Normal” but a “really new normal”; One that encompasses more battles. Along with a few of my group members, we just cannot see ourselves living the rest of our lives like this. Pretending. Glossing over reality. I do not want to go back on the anti depressants, but some days I think I should.
I’ve tried to hint at my friends that some days are just as shitty as the first few days, but I feel patience has been worn out. They are done. They have their own sadness, their own losses, that I find myself incapable of dealing with. I can’t carry your pack, too. I barely have enough oxygen to summit. I feel selfish, but that’s how it is. i can’t summit.

Summits. I attended a Gala “peaks for Change” yesterday and it was a tiny slice of hope on a plate for me. I still think John was lost due to a very impulsive decision based on where he perceived himself in his career, but for once, I felt that SOME mental illness could be ‘healed’ like stage 3 cancer for the 1st time in my life as a suicide loss survivor. I met incredible people who battle mental illness and can talk about it – because they are STILL HERE. I was honoured to meet them, to hear them speak. I still, could not overlook the fact that I was attending alone. Without John.

It was then obvious to me, and to my fellow suicide loss survivor, that we are facing our own mental battles as well. Our grief is a poison and just doesn’t seem to be diluted by time. It just ebbs and flows.

We both now know, we need to address this. We need to keep talking, Lest we join our lost loves.

I’ll keep you posted.

Gotta run.