The Deforestation and Clear-Cutting of Rational Thoughts

I can’t remember how to be around people.  I feel socially awkward everywhere I go, avoiding eye contact and conversation even with cashiers at Target.  I strategically push carts down aisles with the least amount of resistance and the chance of running into anyone I may know.  I feel invisible and completely exposed all at the same time.  I stay at home most weekends watching deplorable amounts of television or reading entire books without absorbing a single word.  The only things I am engaged in lately are my pets and my own despondency.  The outside world seems suspicious and dangerous.  I wonder if this is how hermits are born?

I’ve committed myself to New Year’s events hoping that my promise to bring food to a party will be enough to force me out of hiding.  I kept my calendar obnoxiously full in the months directly following Jason’s death because I was afraid of being alone with my thoughts.  I’m not exactly sure when the turning point was but it seems to have coincided with what would have been our 3rd wedding anniversary.  Now I can’t even recall what I did that day but it must have been instrumental in handicapping me socially.

I have very few friends who I can relate to at the moment but our common denominator seems to be grief.  We have very serious discussions over lunch or dinner and occasionally emote enough to make restaurant staff uncomfortable.  Sadness seems to be the only language I can understand and I strain to comprehend happiness in others, although I believe I spoke it once.

I keep articles such as “25 Things to Remember When Life Gets Rough” or “18 Ways You’re Making Life Harder” saved on my phone so I can refer to them quickly whenever my face starts feeling hot and my throat starts to tighten…the beginnings of a panic attack.  I’m not sure why I believe the psychosis that comes along with bereavement can be easily remedied with simple lists.  But I try everything and anything just because I don’t know what else to do in those moments of desperation.

I have a fear of these inescapable feelings never leaving and just being trapped inside my head, ricocheting back and forth until eventually my entire brain has been bull-dozed and cleared of any hope.   Everyone keeps saying it gets easier.  When?

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7 thoughts on “The Deforestation and Clear-Cutting of Rational Thoughts

  1. Healing Eyes says:

    cliche…it gets easier. I suppose it does. Its been just barely over a year since my Andy died. I suppose its easier living among the living but often I feel Alone even among people. But the sun shines more and I find ways to smile. It will get better…eventually going to stores won’t hurt as much and the memories can turn to be a comfort when you feel low.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. bigbadbengals says:

    I wish I could answer your question.
    I too have become socially awkward, at times wondering if I always was, yet knowing that definitely isn’t the case. The moments of ability vs inability, numbness vs complete despair, the need for silence vs the need for the silence to stop…. It’s all on its own schedule.
    I don’t think the moments of desparation end necessarily… I think (hope?) it changes somehow (?) at some point (?)… Like you, I have no answers, but am here in the gallows next to you.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Rishi says:

    The truth I’m beginning to comprehend is that it never ends, the pain never really goes away. It doesn’t necessarily get better but just gets different because you start getting accustomed to the constant pain. The challenge is not to overcome this but find a way to live with this sadness.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. reneeschlosser says:

    Thank you to everyone who left a comment and words of encouragement. I realize it is the nature of all living things to avoid pain and discomfort but there is no way of avoiding this…no magical drug that makes is less acute. I suppose this is no different than learning to live with a constant malady with no cure…and people do that every single day.

    Liked by 1 person

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