Dirty Poetry

Really real widow post. Although I swear, right now, widowhood and mental health and relationship and love and life and all of the every things is just who I am.

One of the things about being a widow is the way my heart is torn between the past and the present. As amazing as it is to remember the love we had, it’s also so so painful to know she’s gone, to know everything to led to it, and sometimes, when I’m hurting as much as I am right now, I seem to feel all of those emotions at once.

And then, add in my feelings for Wonder Woman and my life now, and my belief that I wouldn’t be where I am now without everything that I’ve been through. And feeling all of that at once. It’s overwhelming, and when I’m hypomanic, everything is intensified so my already strong emotions are put through an amplifier.

Today I’m cleaning out a room, making space for Wonder Woman, and I come across a poem Parker wrote. Her handwriting, talking about the good days, the earlier days, of our relationship.

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I don’t remember when she wrote it.

And by the wording, she probably wrote it during one of the harder times of our relationship when we were fighting to find the good again, which we did so so often.

She mentions dirty fridge poetry, and I remember when we bought fridge magnets, and every time Kidlet would go to his dad’s we would put the “dirty words” back out for those 2-3 months, and then when he’d come home we’d put them away. Each time he we be a bit older and could handle stronger and stronger words. I was so excited when we bought those magnets because I’d wanted fridge word magnets forever and couldn’t justify buying them.

Why didn’t we ever buy them again when we moved up here?

Things that I thought were so important to bring back from this latest trip to Florida, now aren’t as big of a deal and have been thrown away, something I painted years ago, that I don’t even remember painting. But at the same time, I wish I still had those stupid fridge magnets.

I forgot how many times we wrote things, how many different people came through the house making sentences.

I’ll end up buying another set, do they have it in unicorn, roller derby, fart jokes or pickles? They all seem more appropriate for my current relationship.

Kitchen Floor

Second really real widow post in the same day…..

Sometimes, being a widow, means on a wierdly meaningful day, you end up sitting on the kitchen floor crying in ways you haven’t cried in who knows how long. Sobs that keep coming and restart every time they seem to stop.

Trying to stay quiet because you know your girl is busy in the other room and you do not want her to come check on you anyway, because the tears are okay and you just need that time with ghost wife who right now you hate but you love all in the same moment.

I hate this.

Right now, sitting in my kitchen I can see her sitting across from me, putting things on the shelves when I would come home from the store and couldn’t do it myself.

The outline of memories past, her voice just out of reach.

I. Hate. This.

I don’t want to miss Parker. I don’t want to hurt like this. I want to let it go and “move on” and do all of the things that people say I should be able to do by now.

At the same time I want to shove everyone away from me because while it’s easy to type this across a screen and hit post, the last thing I want is people right here seeing this. Self saving warrior princess, positive Tina with insight and positive things to throw towards everyone is fine, but surviving this, sitting here on the kitchen floor with tears running down my face. Both thanking and cursing myself for making sure the meds are locked up because “those” thoughts are creeping around again.

This side is when I don’t want anyone around.

This is the part where I wonder if I’m loveable and if I’m ready to love. I can’t imagine anyone seeing me here, on the kitchen floor, shattered into a million pieces and wondering just how many more times I’m going to glue them back together this month alone.

The amount of fighting that happens in my brain when I remind myself that sometimes just breathing and waiting and sitting still is what I need to do.

And eventually I’ll pick myself back up, wipe off whatever bits of dried food are stuck to my ass (kitchen floor, remember… it happens, I’m a messy cook) and I’m sure I’ll end up cuddling with my girl and then walking it out sometime tonight.

Ghost wife will still be around for a long long while. Her firefly ass isn’t going anywhere.

And I’m finally starting to feel like Wonder Woman isn’t either. She seems stubborn enough to put up with my crazy ass.

Widowing isn’t for the weak. Damnit Parker. I was strong enough before, I didn’t need this particular set of skills.

Or maybe I did. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

Isn’t that what I always say?

I don’t think I’m supposed to be on the kitchen floor.

Guess it’s time to get up.

Tension

Really real widow post:

The memory posts are getting closer and closer to the two year mark but I’ve felt it in my chest for weeks. My anxiety is making me nauseas and as much as I know I need to live and thrive and not revert to survival mode it’s taking everything in me just to put one foot in front of the other.

I feel like I’m functioning within this constant whirlwind. I’m making the motions, I’m doing the things but my head is screaming to get out. Run. Every noise is danger. Every sudden movement is something I need to react to. I’m on edge. I want to puke. My brain is so so loud. I’m afraid of messing it all up.

Everything feels like tension and tension is palpable even where it has nothing to do with me. But tension is triggering as fuck for me.

(Trigger warning: Talk about Parker’s actual death here (but not suicide really)…. more than some will be comfortable hearing but not actually graphic, just the kind of shit our society doesn’t talk about)
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Parker and I fought before she died. The kind of verbal fight that had us going to our own corners to chill out. Except, the only “real” conversation after that was a text she sent me saying “I love you, I’m sorry”

Later when I went to bed and she was already sleeping I remembered thinking “she must be okay, she must understand, the tension is gone.” But typically it never mattered if she was sleeping. If we were fighting the tension stayed until we talked it out.

The next morning when I went to wake her I realized she was dead.

Ghost wives are no longer angry and so there wasn’t tension.

Tension is hugely triggering and while it’s always been a problem for me, I hate seeing people around me upset. Now, that tension in the air, that fight or flight response….

Right now I shut down. I’m on edge and I don’t know how to respond. Stores make me feel agoraphobic again, I want to lock myself in the house and not leave.

I am feeling everybody’s everything’s.

What if it’s my fault. What will the outcome be.

When will the next feeling of tension cause the next snowball of events like that time did?

My body is waiting for that need to react.

And meanwhile I’m sitting in a car, typing this, posting it, so I can put on a totally okay face and NSO another derby event because while all of this is happening and I’m trying so so hard not to lean too much on anyone, especially those closest to me because that’s how people die, that’s how I push them away, that’s how I become too much….

I keep putting one foot in front of the other and trying to live and thrive and not just survive because I have seen the alternative.

Tension fucking sucks.

Widowing Ain’t Easy.

(No time to edit, pardon typos please)

The Mighty – Why We Must Discuss Suicide Openly

This article from The Mighty, along with a bit of my own insight below, is your 8th of the month post.

Why We Must Discuss Suicide Openly

“It’s unfortunate that when an individual tries to express their suicidal thoughts, they are quickly labeled as crazy, psychotic or attention-seeking. Yet once the individual actually takes their own life, they are labeled again as selfish. “They could have sought help” is often heard. What could be worse than saying someone is selfish because they died by suicide, having never known what they were feeling?”

 I have this bridge as both a suicide survivor and someone who has survived my own attempts and fights my own thoughts.

So many of the things talked about in this article are true. The way we talk about those who died vs the way we talk about and to those who are struggling . . .

And I hear and heard both because of who I am. And often the things that were said that are supposed to make me feel better about her losing her battle, make it harder to fight my own. And the things that are said to guilt me into fighting harder make her look like a horrible person because she couldn’t fight hard enough.

And the fact is, we just need to be allowed and encouraged to talk openly. I was able to go to derby this weekend because I knew I had a supportive group around me and if it got bad I could say I needed a break. I even had people asking if I was okay without trying to push me out of what I was doing.

I was able to email my boss and say I’m stepping down hours cause my mental health is slipping and she thanked me for my openness and asked how she could best support me.

This isn’t any different than diabetes or heart disease or cancer. It requires treatment and management and follow ups. And we need to be able to talk about it.

If someone dies from suicide, those left behind need meal trains, and support and comfort, not hushed whispers and “she shouldn’t be saying her wife died like that” ( true story).

I don’t post my struggles for pity. I post it each time it gets bad for 2 reasons. Because for one, it helps me to type it out and be heard.

And for two, I keep hearing how it helps others to see me be vocal. People who didn’t know it could look like this, people who are afraid to speak up. People who are afraid to ask for help.

Parker was the quiet one.

Parker is why we must discuss suicide openly.

Board of Education

Almost two years later and the board of ed sends Parker another debt notice.

Yep… she’s still not coming back to pay her student loans, I promise you. Hell, we probably couldn’t pay them if she was alive.

Yep. I’ll send yet another copy of the death certificate.

People wonder why we don’t get over our ghost spouse?

Why we move forward but we never get over being a widow?

Cause we have to remember their SSN and find the death certificate to call and punch in those numbers and read out thier names and then make jokes to try and feel better about the whole fucking situation while remembering that those last two loans were for the classes she was barely in for a week before she died.

I’m so happy with my life now but grief is a damn bitch and she’s still not coming back to pay those fucking loans.

At least I didn’t cuss out this poor employee over it. I guess I’ve healed quite a bit since the last time.

Power

After an amazing weekend away, I’ve realized that my anxiety in public has virtually vanished. There were multiple times that I went off completely alone in NYC in crowds, without a thought.

I went and retrieved a pizza when they suddenly couldn’t deliver it and throughout the weekend I had no issue figuring out the subway and actually enjoyed getting lost and missing stops and backtracking. It was a puzzle, a game.

I survived one of my worst fears a year ago, and so those people in that giant city have no power over me anymore.

But now those close to me have 100 times more power than they can ever imagine. And it’s power they don’t want, and power I don’t want to give them and it’s become a whole different kind of anxiety that I’m now battling. These trains are just as loud as the trains that used to tell me I couldn’t leave the house.

I know loss, and not in the “we can’t be friends anymore” kind of way, and not even in the “this isn’t working out” kind of way. We had a fight, a stupid fight over stupid shit and she went to bed and did not wake up. And while I know I had nothing to do with Parker’s death, I cannot quiet that voice that tells me I did . . . . it’s part of the process . . .

Because of that, the social anxiety that was always there is now 100 times louder. The fear that everyone else is going to leave gets louder and louder.

Every time someone is angry with me not only do I feel that tension and need to run from it, but I’m internally petrified . . what if I don’t have a chance to make amends. What if there is no tomorrow to say “I’m sorry, this was stupid” after they calm down.

Because of it I end up sometimes becoming incredibly irratic and overbearing and talking over them and even over myself to try and fix problems that aren’t even there because in my mind . .

If I don’t put out those fires I’m going to lose more people.

And i LOVE my people. I love my tribe. With every bit of my being.

I am both thankful for, and sorry to those who have been so close to me this past year. I know I am a lot. And I know that by now, you thought it would not be so much to be so close to someone who you have given so much to. And I do appreciate you, more than you could ever know. I wasn’t on even ground to begin with, and a year ago that ground disappeared. I’m quite thankful that I realized I could fly, but you guys have done more than your fair share of carrying.

I am intense . . and I am trying to get better. All month I have been trying to figure out how things feel so right in some ways, and so wrong in other ways.

What Doesn’t Kill

So, here’s the deal. I’m not going to be one of those people that say God doesn’t give you what you can’t handle. Because, seriously . . look at my life.

However, I was one that said this phrase, a lot. But, each one of these things that kept hitting me, kept making me more of the me I was meant to be. And then, after I recovered from each major thing I would look back and say I wouldn’t change a thing because it put me where I am today, and I’m right where I am meant to be.

Now, before I say this next phrase, please realize.

I Want Parker Back. I want my wife back. There is NO denying that.

However. That situation made me who I am and put me where I am right this second. So no, a year ago, I wasn’t already strong enough, because I wasn’t who I was meant to be yet. If everything would not have happened I would not be where I am this second.

And I’m right where I am meant to be.

And I love me. And that, is an amazing feeling.