I haven’t written in a while, because honestly, I haven’t cared to. I went into one of those kinds of states I go into every several months, since Ant died. I just float along, in a state of dissociation, and sometimes it’s a comfort to write, and other times, not. This time around, it was “not”.
I’ve also been trying to handle my health a bit better - it’s hard to feel any kind of progress in life when your physical health is down the drain, and that’s where mine has been since THAT night, and every month, just getting worse.
So, I decided to try to take control of that - and that’s no easy feat. I have alot of issues now, and I’m slowly handling them, but it will take time and alot of self-care to recover. Struggling with a life long battle of insomnia, which has returned with a vengeance, also makes things a bit more complicated.
My doctor recommended I wear a cgm — a continuous glucose monitor — to see if this was a blood sugar issue — and it seems that’s part of the equation. My blood sugar is sneaky and all over the map. On a finger stick, the glucose looks good, but when monitored, apparently my stress is making it shoot up and down — especially at night - and this is making me wake up, when it crashes very low. So, I’m supposed to work on my stress levels, and take berberine for starters. Cut sugar was on that list but I did that months ago, but even with that - my apparently my insane “night life” — wild dreams and torments — truly does have a life of its own. I’m on a mission to bring that under control. Sounds simple, but like all things “simple” - it’s not so simple.
I am dealing with guilt about other things at this point in the journey - like I am “grieving” too long. Anthony is dead and gone and I should just move on now. I wish it were that simple, I truly do. No one who hasn’t walked this road, of child loss and of losing a child to suicide, can truly understand the depths of torment and chaos brought by this tragedy. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. Just hearing myself talk about it makes me angry - if I don’t want to hear it, I’m sure no one else does either. He was mine, and he will always be mine. Always. I don’t need to talk about it, explain it, or rehash it. I deal with the constant burning poison of what happened, the questions that can never be answered, the beautiful sun that rises every morning, that he’s not here to see - and never will be. I can accept that, and not accept it, all at the same time.
Living on this mountain, both literally and figuratively, has been both a curse and a gift all at once. I can rage at God as to why he allowed this, and I can pray to God as my only comfort - all at once. That is the duality of this process I’ve been forced through. I can go round and round that mountain as many times as it takes my stubborn ass to relent, absorb, process, accept. Some days I can accept. Other days, not even close. And on those days, the physiology of who I am, it dives to the abyss along with my soul. That’s a hard thing to rein in. The best I can do is just do the best I can. I remember long ago, our old neighborhood pastor, John M. said, “when you’re at a loss of what to do next, just do the next right thing.”
So, this life yawns out before me — who knows how long? The truth is the same for all of us. But, while I’m here, I can’t just allow myself to break down and apart - so I’ve started to slowly make changes to improve, and allow myself to have some goals. I feel like, in this whole terrible process, I’ve moved from the infant stage, to the toddler, now to a goofy kid again. I’m no where near an “adult” in this metamorphosis — 2.4 years out, and I’m still wandering and wondering. Maybe I always will be…but I hope I will not be so rudderless.
The idea of having goals again fills me with fear and dread - for so many reasons, and none that would make sense to anyone else outside of a few of my fellow travelers. One thing that fills me with fear is moving away from this space I’ve clung to that was literally my safe harbor in this terrible storm. Yet, I’m pulled to start slowly peeling myself away from it - into the unknown - a place in the future where the people I loved so much are not there - at least in the physical realm. Hiding away was instinctive - but leaving that place of safety is very difficult. I will be tested in the coming months with some plans I have, but for right now, I’m just staying in the day. Staying in today is what Jesus said - tomorrow isn’t here, and yesterday is gone.
So, I’m still around. Still journeying. Still growing.