My husband died. 2 years 5 months 3 days ago. While the length at which I have been separated by my husband, from death, is a “reasonable amount of time”, I still get sad.
I am sad right now. I hide it, or at least I try to. I bottle it up and put a HAPPY stamp on it. Inside though, at least the past few weeks, I have been brewing, stirring, concocting a nasty recipe of despair. Wow, despair. Desperate. Yep, I think that suits it.
The HAPPY stamp is rubbing off. I have exploded. I am kind of a mess of emotions. I am. I went off meds knowing this may happen, hoping that with the combination of weather improving (they’re calling for snow…in April), exercise (mmm, cadbury mini eggs are out in stores now) and therapy (I had to cancel last week due to a schedule conflict) I would be able to handle the effects of med-withdrawal. Just slap the FAIL stamp on my forehead now.
I know though, that I am allowed to be sad. Even 2 years, 5 months, and 3 days after his death, I get sad about it. Kevin would be 39 next week, is that triggering? Is it EVERYTHING that’s triggering? Maybe. I’m just conversing with myself constantly, trying to pinpoint the exact things that make me sad. But I can’t. I just am sad.
I am trying to convince myself, that allowing myself to be sad is ok. Even if everyone is telling me “maybe you should be back on the pills” over and over again. I’m fighting that. I’m only now dealing with the full brunt of coming off the pills, and I’ve only been to 1 therapy session. I need to put forth more effort first. I promised myself that. But today, I’m also promising myself an allowance to be sad.