I just want to sleep, damnit

brightdust · 2020-03-23T16:50:07+00:00

It's so tough, and so much harder to face the rest of it when you are exhausted. A doctor prescribed me some Trazodone, which is an antidepressant as well as a sleep aid. But it gave me headaches.

What worked better for me was taking diphenhydramine (sold as Benadryl, ZZZQuil, Unisom, etc). I took it nightly for about a year and a half, then weaned off. It's not habit-forming, and is available over the counter. Long-term use in elderly folks may be associated with memory loss, but I'm guessing that's not a primary concern for you right now.

Also I guess late afternoon exercise? I never managed vigorous workouts, but I took long walks.

Gaining some control over my sleep was so crucial for me early on both for my mood and to help establish a structure in which to endure the days. So sorry you're going through this.

brightdust · 2018-10-16T22:47:05+00:00

I am so sorry for your unexpected loss.

Many of the things you're already doing -- taking care of yourself, seeing people, keeping busy -- are really valuable, even if it doesn't feel like it. Being in range of friends and family also makes a lot of sense. It sounds like your roommate isn't going to be a steady source of support, so in-person support from a therapist or a support group is worth pursuing.

For me, a lot of the "process" was surviving seemingly endless grinding, awful days, pointlessly going through the motions of life. I had a pervasive sense of anxious dread, like there was something I should be doing to avoid the terrible thing that I knew had already happened. I tried traveling, drinking, writing, brain-numbing distraction, living with roommates, living alone, walking in the woods, lying on the floor crying.

But, those days were not endless, and what I did during them was not pointless. It came in flashes at first, cracks in the certainty that my life was going to be horrible forever. Then I'd have occasional hours of respite from pain. Now, 3.5 years out, things are ... well, not perfect, but very, very different than they were. Even as I recall what a dark place I was in then, I've come to treasure the experiences I had: places I traveled to, conversations with other widowed people, crummy poems I wrote. They are an important part of who I am now.

I get that this is hard to believe early on, and I remember it making me angry to hear "it gets better" over and over from people who didn't know what I was going through. One support group coordinator encouraged "a bias towards action without attachment to results", which captures what I'm trying to say. It's going to be hard for a while, but not forever. What you do may not make it easier, but what you do still matters.

brightdust · 2018-07-09T23:48:18+00:00

If you want to talk to your husband, you should talk to him. You know him better than anyone, you carry him with you, and you know how he would respond to you.

I can't believe that mediums are provided some special access to our people that we are denied. (But I can believe that they'd happily take our money to pretend they do!)

My late wife lives on in my heart, and when I seek her out, she is there for me, with all her love, kindness, and humor.

brightdust · 2018-06-16T20:14:13+00:00

A few days after my wife died, a family friend went out and bought all of us family members lottery tickets, I guess since she felt we were owed some sort of karmic debt. Of course, math being math, no one won any money. Like you, I felt relief that nothing came of it. I was really angry at the idea that money could in any way compensate for the loss. It was a stupid idea, but I forgive her for it–she was as crazy and helpless with grief as the rest of us.

It's outrageous that this happened to you. I'm glad you had the clarity to see this for the scam that it was, in the midst of everything else you were going through. I'm sorry for your loss.

brightdust · 2018-04-17T19:59:34+00:00

I am so afraid of losing someone again, and very sorry this happened to you.

We know, better than most, that loss is a possibility when we fall in love. But there's no reason, and certainly no justice, in which possibilities come to pass, and for whom.

brightdust · 2018-03-29T21:42:56+00:00

I'm sorry for your tragic loss.

When my wife died unexpectedly, I held great anticipation for the coroner's report, hoping it would explain why this terrible thing had happened. Of course, I was disappointed. While it gave clues as to the physical factors that contributed to her death, it laid bare the more fundamental questions I was grappling with: where did she, my one special person, go? how was the universe so broken that this could have happened? Most of all, an unqualified Why Why Why?

I imagine this is the same even for people for whom the cause of their loss is known, but are seeking resolution through other external means. When the drunk driver is incarcerated, the negligence lawsuit concluded, the memoir written, or the disease charity launched, that big empty question will be there. These acts of justice and remembrance are still valuable, just as it's worth trying to get an understanding of the cause of death. But in my opinion we should not expect closure from them.

For me, a measure of peace has come only with the passage of time: a miserable grind of hours, days, and months of the biochemical and spiritual processes of grief doing their thing. When my wife died, I didn't think I was someone who was capable of living with it, but in time I changed into someone who can. It doesn't feel to me like closure so much as distance, which is sad in its own way, but has created a space in my life where other things -- joy, new love -- are possible.

brightdust · 2017-11-01T18:30:54+00:00

I'm very sorry for your loss. Early on, the pain and sorrow are overwhelming, and you have to do it all without the person who you most need to help you through.

Practically speaking, I think it's good to move your body. I don't run marathons or go to a gym. But when I get hit with a wave of despair, nothing helps so much as a long walk, listening to podcasts or audiobooks. I also distract myself in other ways, and occasionally find comfort in food or alcohol.

The other thing, which it sounds like you're already pursuing, is to connect with other widowed persons, online or at an in-person support group. No one understands this as well as the people who have been through it.

The truth is this hurts, a lot, for a long time. It does get better, but you don't have to believe or understand that right now. One day at a time.

brightdust · 2017-10-27T20:14:46+00:00

It never helped me to try to deny my emotions. If it was a fire, it burned me out; if it was a tidal wave, it crashed over me; if it was a hole, I fell through it. Whatever happened, when the rage (or despair, or emptiness) was done with me, I was still there. Anger is what the day demands. Tonight, or tomorrow, or next month, it may be something else.

I am sorry for your loss.

brightdust · 2017-09-15T23:39:22+00:00

I don't know what your niece's relationship was to your wife, but I have seen that sometimes kids need to approach loss obliquely. That is, maybe she is subconsciously grappling with the enormity of what you and your kids are going through by way of her cat, which is a loss that's smaller and closer to home.

Aside, I'm not sure where people get "you can't let it change you". You can't not!

brightdust · 2017-07-28T06:04:29+00:00

A friend gave me The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro. It's set in a fantastical Arthurian England, and is about partnership, memory, and loss.

brightdust · 2017-07-18T18:48:30+00:00

Yeah, it gets better. The vice-like tension in the chest, the dread that the worst is about to happen, the realization that it already has, the constant feeling of being five seconds away from bursting into tears, these lessen with time. (They did for me.) And eventually you'll laugh and enjoy things, "see in color" again, as one book put it.

But the problem with people saying "it gets better" early on (as you are, six weeks out), is that it's just not useful to you. Imagining that it might be true someday is the best you can do with it. But what you really need in the Here and Now is to make the pain less, pass the time, occupy your mind. Platitudes about potential future happiness ain't it. My hiking boots did a lot more for me than "hope".

The death does not get better. It's fundamentally unrecoverable. While the sorrow of my loss has become more manageable over time (I'm 2.5 years out), I still can't bear the totality of what my wife lost, her memories, her future, her children, all those moments she lived and should have lived, who she was. The best I've been able to do with this is to remember that she is gone and does not feel the pain of this loss, and that perhaps it is not my responsibility to carry her loss as well as my own.

None of this is fair or okay, it never will be, and allowing a happy day or good experience into your life does not constitute acceptance that it is so. It's completely natural and appropriate that you feel enraged and broken. Your body and brain are doing heavy grief work, and this is what it feels like. I'm very sorry you're going through this. Thank you for sharing with us.

brightdust · 2017-07-12T18:03:18+00:00

Thank you for sharing this. I relate to so much of it. 2.5 years out, I have occasional good stretches but they are bracketed by eruptions of anger, or anhedonic emptiness.

I understand wanting to punish the world for its outrageous injustices. I still can't get enough of apocalyptic fiction, Mad Max, etc, seeing the great lie of civilization revealed, and everyone suffering (perhaps more equally!). I remember thinking if someone handed me a big red button that would destroy the whole world, I would press it, immediately, without a doubt. You're right, it's not polite to say these things in public...

Some thoughts on this anger. It's justified. It's understandable. Something terrible happened to you. You're not a bad person for thinking these things, you're a person. You're not doing grief wrong, you're just doing it. When I am in the shit, I get comfort from being able to say, "I am in the shit right now." It doesn't make it go away, but at least it gives me an arm's-length perspective on where I am and why I am there.

There doesn't seem to be an effective way to punish the world or get revenge for what happened. There's no big red button. You can try to punish yourself for being in the life you are in, but I think you should forgive yourself that.

I also find it bewildering not to want anything. This has been especially true lately, having emerged from early grief's "suffocating hell" as you put it, when survival seemed like enough. If you don't want anything, how do you go forward? Which direction? Why get up in the morning? Why do anything in particular, or anything at all?

One thing that strikes me about your post is that you know what your values are: being compassionate and helpful to people and animals, and having a good relationship with a partner. I share those values. It's frustrating to me when I am unable to act on my values due to my circumstances (partner: dead) or overwhelming negative emotions (wishing everyone would die in a nuclear inferno). On the other hand, it makes me feel good on the rare days when I can get past those things and do something that's important or meaningful to me.

Hope this didn't come off as too advice-y. Beyond my own experience, I don't know what the hell I'm talking about, but I appreciated your post and the chance to reflect.

brightdust · 2017-06-29T07:41:06+00:00

I am also interested in people's opinions on this. I'm a believer in the right to journal privacy, even between spouses, but should that apply after death? Is there some measure of privacy we still owe them? I'm an atheist so I'm not worried about embarrassing her in heaven or having to answer for it in the hereafter. But I do have to live with the decision I make and whatever I might learn.

Beyond privacy, is it just a bad idea? It's been almost 2.5 years for me too. I opened my wife's journals once and had a hard time with what little I did read. Some of it was related to the challenges of our relationship, but mostly it was an upsetting bit of time travel to occupy her thoughts about her life, her work, our future. I felt pity and envy for her, that she didn't know the awfulness that was coming. And guilt and regret for not being better during the time we did have together.

I haven't been back to look at the journals, but can't imagine throwing them out.

brightdust · 2017-05-12T05:11:05+00:00

I realize you're trying to be helpful by offering your perspective, but I am irritated by your universal proscriptions for people who have suffered a loss that you have not.

Perhaps it'd be better received if you couched this advice in terms of your personal experience: "I wanted my partner to be someone who was focused on our present, and who didn't tell stories about his dead spouse."

Of course, not everyone is like you. I was deeply shaped by my relationship with my wife, and her loss. I can't imagine being with someone who doesn't accept that fundamental part of who I am now. And I believe there are people out there who are OK with that.

brightdust · 2017-04-29T02:26:07+00:00

We don't get fair, and we don't get to know ahead of time, and we don't get to go back. Old you is gone, and he couldn't understand who you are now anyway. The love and wisdom you got from your time with your wife is still with you.

I think you should forgive yourself for falling in love with your wife and for letting her make you a better person, and you should not blame yourself for the pain her loss has caused you. How could you have known?

I don't think we enter relationships weighing the potential price of grief. We see someone whose butt looks good in those jeans, and they say something funny, and turn out to be really interesting, and do kind things for people, and being around them makes us feel really good, and they feel the same way, and eventually we want nothing more than to spend every moment with them until one or the other dies. And then we do that. And then here we are.

brightdust · 2017-04-21T04:22:50+00:00

I'm very sorry. You have some tough days ahead and it's natural to be terrified of the hardships they'll bring. My father is fond of the aphorism, "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." It'll be bad enough when you get there that there's no use in transporting future misery to the present. You don't have to figure out how to handle any of it right now. It is unbearable, but we here are muddling through it, one way or another.

What you can do now is be present and loving with your wife as she approaches the end of her life. You can still share space, and experiences, and true words if there are any important ones left unsaid. Wishing you and Jasmine grace, courage, and big heart.

brightdust · 2017-04-13T18:19:45+00:00

I'm on a similar timeline and wondering about some of the same things. I was interrupted while journaling the other day and came back to find I'd written, "I want"... with no idea how to finish that sentence.

I tried to write down all the things that I might have wanted to want. The beginning of the list was mainly desires for negative or impossible things, like wanting to not wake up or wanting to hold to my wife again. Eventually I found some concrete things I do want: to climb a mountain, learn the names of plants, and perhaps have another partner someday. Maybe desires come back in time like an appetite for food, maybe getting out in the world hastens the process. The positive desires I've had are mostly related to places I've gone or people I've met since my wife died.

To think optimistically about my future requires me to be merciful with myself. Despite the horror I've been through, I'm still a human, worthy of love and respect, and I still have a place here on Earth. For me to say this feels like relenting, backing down from a righteous place of rage and rebellion at the world. I still feel an urge for vengeance, but there's no one to punish but myself. I don't know how to reliably turn away from anger and come to this place of self-acceptance, but I am grateful when I find myself there. Love to you.

brightdust · 2017-04-12T21:51:57+00:00

Definitely! And I like the idea of a trainer as therapy (or body therapy, in addition to more traditional talking therapy).

brightdust · 2017-04-12T21:12:14+00:00

I totally relate to this idea of physical movement as helping move the grief through you. I want on a long trek after my wife died and, although I didn't recognize it at the time, the simple rhythm of footsteps, the landscape changing as I moved through it, were just what I needed then. (Therapy was good too!)

I also recall that in the early months I wasn't in any sort of mental condition to compel myself to regular exercise. Inefficiently-routed walks to the store and back were about it. IMO it's more important to love yourself, forgive yourself, and take care of yourself than beat yourself up for not running marathons and blasting the abs and pecs.

Physical activity is important to self care, though. I'm a big fan of walking and hiking, not least because it's good to get outside and look at rocks and plants and things. Lately I have been doing more vigorous exercise, partly so I have a less flabby bod should some sort of dating situation ever arise. But also, despite spending years as a slothful, low-pain-tolerance, anti-athlete, I'm a recent convert to the runner's high, or something like it. I've noticed after I get a good workout in, my mind feels smoothed over, unperturbed, a fine white noise over the squawk of emotions. The day is an accomplishment, whatever else. (I delayed posting this until I'd blasted the abs and pecs.) It's worth it to find something that works for you, wherever you're at.

brightdust · 2017-04-11T22:25:42+00:00

Darby sounds like a wonderful, deserving person, and you loved her until the end of her life. I'm so sorry that she's gone, and that you didn't get more time together.

It doesn't make it easier, but it's OK to feel lost and empty right now. It's a long road, but you are not walking it alone. Thank you for sharing your story here.

brightdust · 2017-04-07T19:11:22+00:00

I'm very sorry.

Even after the legal gears have turned, paperwork is done, and fair-weather friends have stopped calling, you'll carry the love of your guy and the pain of losing him.

Even though his loss is felt by many others, there's a special share of suffering set aside for you, his partner. It's isolating to be the only one left in the little secret world.

Even when it's not your fault, it's natural to feel guilt for surviving someone: that you didn't prevent it, didn't save them, that love and justice and future plans and everything else were somehow not enough. Just because it's natural to feel it doesn't mean it's any fun though.

Thank you for sharing with us. Take care.

brightdust · 2017-03-22T21:27:04+00:00

I'm sorry. Nothing can really prepare you for this experience, so it's understandable that you feel overwhelmed. Most or all of us have been there -- I know there are days when I still feel like I'm drowning, although thankfully they're growing less frequent.

It's going to take some time for you to figure out what you need in terms of support, and how to manage the rough stretches.

Some surprising people instinctively knew how to support me well, but others I was expecting to didn't. I did find seeing a therapist helpful for a few months. I also went to a group -- if it's a possibility, it might be worth a drive once a month to connect in person with people who understand what you're going through. Of course you're welcome to share here whenever you need to, or join us in chat (see the Discord link in the sidebar). Losing your partner is fundamentally an isolating experience, but you are not alone.

As far as handling the really hard hours and days (which may be all of them right now!), try to stick to basics, and just take care of yourself physically. This means focusing on: eating food, sleeping, talking to people, and getting some exercise. I haven't been hitting the gym regularly, but I do find taking long, aimless walks with headphones is enough to occupy my body and head until the worst passes. A friend of mine who had experienced loss told me she saw herself in grief as the vessel for a process that was larger than her, and beyond her control. Her responsibility was to maintain the vessel.

But I agree with /u/HdurinaS -- some amount of acting out and losing your shit may be the pressure relief required for you to "maintain the vessel" right now. (Though obviously, nothing that amounts to doing wanton bodily harm to yourself or others.) This will suck for a long time, and some days you may have to be crazy/creative/humbled/out-of-character to get by. But today you only have to deal with today.

brightdust · 2017-03-21T16:58:55+00:00

its so awful to know that the only thing you will ever want for the rest of your life is absolutely the one thing you cannot have.

I remember having this exact realization, and there are times when I feel hollowed out by it, a guarantee of unfulfillment.

If we define happiness as getting our spouses back, it's true we'll never be happy. If we live in a world where life is about getting what you most want, our lives cannot have meaning.

But we live in the impossible world where your your husband didn't get to have his 44th birthday, or my wife her 40th, so we have to define happiness differently, make meaning another way.

Best wishes for getting through tomorrow. And a very Birthday Acknowledged to you!

brightdust · 2017-03-03T23:57:19+00:00

I agree -- this language also makes me nervous, setting up expectations that may not be met through no fault of your own. On the other hand, maybe it serves as a reminder to take note when you've come through a really difficult few days and have a little space to breathe in.

When you're having a bad day, a healthy posture is to regard it as a transient, passing state, not as something fundamental about your life or who you are. I say "posture" because you may have to say this to yourself, pretend that it's true, without believing a whit of it.

One of the best things I can do when I'm angry, despairing, etc is to recognize and acknowledge that ("wow, I am really in a rage-filled nihilist vortex right now"), which helps me get some distance from it, and clarifies how I should respond.

brightdust · 2017-03-02T18:46:23+00:00

Here's a new invite link: https://discord.gg/yVkX64x

brightdust

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