A different kind of pain...

The first year after Mary left, was taken, disappeared, I needed to be as close to her as I could be. At first wearing her clothes helped, keeping the pictures of her  up and around, I thought would help but it didn't. Listening to her music hurt worse.  I was not in control of my life.  Yes I know no one is truly in control.  That's probably why religions tell you that god is in control. I think it's a way to not take responsibility for you actions.  But..... I did take control of the only thing a person can control 95% (nothing is 100%) of the time - what I ate.  I wanted to weigh what Mary weighed, 100 pounds.  She's 5'4" and I am an inch shorter so I knew it was possible, mainly because I wasn't hungry. 

I got down to 105#. My doctor and friends didn't like seeing me at that weight. But I stayed there for awhile. Last year I got back to 120#, bought new clothes, even started wearing makeup. 

Now I have lost control of even that. I am eating no more than I have been for the last year and yet I have gained 12 pounds in 4-5 months. My clothes have slowly gotten tighter. I have been eating the same amount or less. But less slows down your metabolism.  So with the new year I started walking on out treadmill.  One hour up to level 3, 2-3 times a week.  Still gaining. 

Here's the worst part, my hip muscles are having spasms, I can barely walk, and am on pain meds that don't seem to be helping. All from exercising too much. My last vestige of phantom control, gone. My doc is checking my thyroid level.  If it's off then there's an easy fix.  If it's not, more tests.  Meanwhile I may have to start wearing baggy clothes.

Danny couldn't really control what he ate since everything affected his heart.  But he controlled when, where, and how long he slept. Doesn't sound like a big thing but every little bit helps.

My little bit is gone, at least for now.

Who? Why?

Who am I writing for?  Why am I writing?  I don't want to write anymore.  I don't feel the urge to start cutting on my arms just to see the blood flow either.  I know what's under the thin layer of "resignation" skin that I so carefully caress.  Every time I see or hear something about a child dying I turn the other way, stop reading or listening, lest I fall apart.  

I am handling my life as best I can. I am not joyful, gushingly happy, frantically positive but I'm walking and breathing.  I have things to do to keep me busy enough to give me time to focus on today with out falling into the "life sucks" abyss.   And believe me, life does suck - even when you think you are having fun.  

Other people are just as good at fooling themselves about reality as I am.  I'm not the only person who ignores pain and truth.  People believe in life after death because they don't want to believe it's the end either for themselves or someone else.  But since no one actually knows what happens after your last breath it's easier for them to pretend.  I choose, in this matter, not to pretend.  I have just resigned myself to knowing I'll find out one day.  Getting to heaven is not a reason to be a good person.  You should be good no matter where you end up.

Anyway, I can't write everyday like I promised. And who, exactly, did I promise?  Who reads these words?  I know who read the ones I wrote after Mary left.  I also know they stopped reading them because it hurt them too much to read it.  So, in the end I was writing to myself anyway.  I supposed it helped because I thought I was writing to the world.  And I wanted everyone in it to know exactly how much worse the world was without Mary. I wanted to scream it at the top of my lungs.  But no body was listening in the end.

It's not that I don't want the world to know how much it hurts not to have Danny in it. It's that I can't stand the pain of describing it.

So I won't.  He understands.  

My bad!

Yes, it is hard to get back to putting on paper what rattles around in my head.  But I'm trying.  I will write more today or tonight.  I just don't have that "life is great" feeling anymore.  I think I've lost it somewhere....I've fallen and I can't get up.  Or I don't want to get up. 

Day 3

Some one said "tough times don't last, tough people do".  Replace the word "tough" with other words - hard, soft, mean, funny, etc.  What do you get? Meaningless dribble.   Lots of little sayings to make you feel better but they don't.

We'll talk about "hope" tomorrow night. Another phantom meaning.

I did walk on the treadmill tonight.  2 days in a row.

Day 2

There we go.  Another year come and gone, another year to get through... I was supposed to start this yesterday but I only thought about it. I did start one new action.  I am starting each day off with a big glass of water. And I'm going to try to eat something for breakfast. Today I even did a few sit-ups.  That which is displayed in my mind hardly ever gets to my arms and legs but I'm going to try this year.

New Year's Day was uneventful.  Moved my shoes and sweaters to Gabe's room and neaten end up my shelves. Went to a movie with Bonni, knitted, played a game, fed the doggies, worked on plans for Ann's party. When you put it on paper my life is boring. I'm sure I did something else but what I didn't do is wash the dishes.

I guess that dude will start working on the floor this week.

Talked to Sherrell for a few minutes.  She made it back from the other side.  I was a little worried she might not make it.  I'll go visit her once and then let her and me get on with our lives.

Gotta get ready for work.
Love you Mary, love you Danny.
Holding on to Julie.