It's already the end of May, and I couldn't tell you where the last thirty days went. I couldn't give you any real rundown of what I've accomplished, or put off, in the last four weeks. I'd have a hard time telling you what day of the week it is at any given moment, and don't even ask me the date. All you'll get is my best impression of Tina Belcher, unable to answer a question or make a decision.
It's been a month since my world came to a halt.
It's been a month since everything changed forever.
It's been a month since my middle son left us.
My family is still feeling the aftereffects of the loss.
Time stopped at the end of April, and it has yet to restart. We go through the motions, doing the bare minimum needed to operate. But that's it.
So, how's Josh doing?
I've been getting this question a lot lately.
The short answer is ok. I'm functional. I get up, do my little routine, take my medication, play with my dog, take care of my daughter, manage to crank some wordage on whatever writing project I'm currently on, and babysit my granddaughter.
So, am I ok?
The longs answer is crappy, with a but.
I've been avoiding any real interactions of social media for the last month. Some of you might say, "Well, that's a good thing. Taking a break from the online world is a good thing. Take some time and recharge your batteries. Don't worry. The world will still be here when you're ready to rejoin it. You just take care of you and yours."
But it's not ok.
Online is really the only way I interact with people who aren't my immediate family. I hate talking on this phone, except for the few people I'm really close to (you know who you are). I'm a shitty texter. I don't return texts for a long time, and sometimes I forget that texts are waiting for me to respond to.
I'm a diagnosed agoraphobic with an anxiety disorder fueled by my bipolar disorder. I hate opening the door to reach a single arm out to snag the mail from the box. I make my son conduct any needed interactions with delivery people and whatnot.
What I'm saying is, I'm built for living online.
But I don't care anymore.
I have no interest in political, social, or religious discussions. I've always enjoyed these things, but for the last month, I just don't care, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. Not because I don't think these things matter but because I just don't care what the outcome is anymore.
I hate Donald Trump as much as I ever have, and I'm voting Democrat, but I don't care anymore. I can't be bothered to debate and attempt to convince third party voters that beating Trump is more important than taking a principled stand.
You can all just do whatever you want, and I won't lift a finger or open my mouth to stop you. Vote or don't vote. America will get what it deserves in the end. If we choose to slit our own throat, then that's what we'll get.
But, back to my issues.
Because, you know, this is about me.
I'm not sleeping well. It's not that I don't sleep, I'm no reject from a Nightmare on Elm Street movie. But my sleep is not good or restful. Either I sleep two hours at a stretch, waking and needing at least three hours before I can even attempt going back to sleep. Or, even worse, I sleep fourteen hours and wake up more tired than I was when I went to bed. Neither of those takes into account the constant naps I need. So, add two or three more hours.
I think I could manage the messed up sleep schedule if it weren’t for the dreams. I have been having intense, disturbing dreams. I'm not having traditional nightmares, but they do scare me. I've been remembering these dreams, which is something that almost NEVER happens to me. I'm that person who knows I've had a dream, but I never remember more than the broad strokes and impressions. I'm not going to get into the details of the dreams but suffice it to say they leave me feeling hollow, sad, and guilty.
And finally, how am I doing physically?
My eating habits are all over the place, and none of the places they land are good. I was sticking to a moderate diet for about two months before Stephen passed. I'd lost a few pounds, and my blood sugars were getting better.
But, now that's all been blown to hell.
These days I'm either I'm eating very little and just not caring about the hunger pains, or I eat and don't stop from when I wake up until I go to bed. Even after I go to bed, I will inevitably get up and binge on something I scavenge from the fridge and pantry.
To put it in simple terms.
I eat, and I eat, and I eat until my stomach hurts and I feel like I'm going to vomit.
My blood sugar, remember it was almost under control again, now is all over the place. I'm irritable because of my blood sugar. I have no energy because of my blood sugar. I'm urinating all of the time because of my blood sugar.
And the capper, my feet hurt most of the time because of my blood sugar. I'm seriously starting to get worried about them. I'm having a hard time climbing and descending stairs, and I've stubbed my toe several times and didn't feel more than some pressure.
I understand that three's a direct linkage between my eating habits and everything else, with the exception of not caring about anything. But Part of the not caring leads to the eating, which leads to everything else.
And the cycle continues, and I just don't give a damn anymore.
I've hypothesized in the past that my eating is a subconscious attempt to kill myself. I don't want to die. I haven't felt suicidal in along time, by my measure. But I don't care if I do either.
