Denial

July 26, 2013

I'm beginning to feel like my blog titles are an advertisement for the DSM 5....the 'bible' for diagnosing mental illness.  A curious thing, since most of the titles are pretty accurate descriptions of the content contained therein.  Then again, at this point in my life, maybe it'd be more concerning if my blog were a self-help book on happy joy joy. 

 Lately, when people see me and tell me they're sorry to hear about Brandon dying, I feel almost odd saying thank you, like I'm not even in that moment  because they couldn't possibly be talking to me, right?  Just when I thought it'd started dying down, it's like everywhere I turn, someone is asking me how I'm (really) doing.  I see tears in at least 50 percent of those eyes.  It's empathy, I know, as I walk out every parent's worst nightmare, but I swear it makes me instantly disconnect.  This just cannot be my life.

In the beginning, I knew they were talking to me and hugging me for a reason... what other woman was standing in the room crying?  What other woman was staring into space in total disbelief, mentally daring God to take her, too?  There was no one else.  I was in the midst of life's worst and greatest storm and people were trying to help steady the boat.  Now, I hold my head up and try to act like I've always acted, like nothing is different, so others follow my lead.  Storm raging around me?  Where?  Nuh-uh, if I don't admit it's there, it must not be there.  I stay busy or hiding, absolutely nothing else in between.

When I think of Brandon, as I'm wandering around the house alone, I find myself saying aloud, " No,"  and shaking my head, like it will clear the reality of death out of my mind and life.  When I start crying, which is a strange experience in and of itself, lately, where I start sobbing for five minutes and then it's as if a switch is flipped and here I am, again, and everything is ok, the first thing out of my mouth is, " Damnit!"  I don't want this stupid reality,  it's horrible and it deserves something more than a damnit that I'd give a stubbed toe.  But, I don't want to pay it too much attention.  It could be real then.  When I'd discovered that I'd fallen asleep one night without checking on his room and it was ok, I decided that maybe if I just stay away from the reality, it won't be so hard to take.  We have not touched his room.  In fact, his room is just as he left it, so maybe he'll come back to it.  If I stay away just enough, if I keep saying my kids (plural) and speaking of him in present tense, maybe it won't hurt quite so much? 

My brain will not cooperate.  I keep calling the dog by Brandon's name, something that might've been funny once, like calling one kid by the other kid's name, but now seems cruel.  My every conversation is peppered with Brandon.  I'm not sure if my conversations were so filled with talk of my kids, before Brandon died, but now it's all that I have to say, it's taken on a life of its own, while I try so hard to push it back down.  Last night, I woke up crying.  I don't remember the dream,  but I knew it was about Brandon when I woke up.  The tv keeps playing songs/ artists that he both loved and hated... essentially,  EVERY single thing, dead or alive and every word in existence, is a haunting memory of some sorts and I want out of the nightmare.  I don't even know how to get and comfortably stay in denial...it's too real.  I just hope I'm not as crazy as I feel....although...sanity may be terribly over-rated right now.