That’s me. I’m missing in action.
I only just put words to this in the last few days. Which is interesting to me, because I love words and I think way too much at times. But realizations are beginning to seep into me and words and phrases are attaching to those realizations for the first time and “missing in action” formed itself into knowledge yesterday.
I’ve felt for quite a while now, as the months have passed since Handsome Husband’s death, that I feel disjointed, dislocated, dis..add whatever else fits. It seems to have become more so as time goes on and I make the plans that have to be made to have some kind of life for myself. (As I read back over that I also realize it could sound self-pitying, but I honestly don’t mean it that way. It’s just fact.)
Here is my body, changed quite a bit, at least in my eyes, since he died. Very short hair, eyes that, I believe, are irrevocably mirroring the agony in my soul, eyes that can and will pour tears on an instant, a body that moves and bends according to the demands I put upon it, but a body that has put on weight and is, well, passive, even while it carries me into each day to do what needs to be done. A body that feels not my own.
Every so often, I kind of mentally scan my body, wondering what’s there, on the outside and the inside. And yesterday I fully realized not only that I’m not in my body but that I feel totally and completely asexual and neutral. Even while I’m engaged in so much, and engaging with as I meet people through my day, I feel no connection to this body. Food means nothing. I don’t eat because I remember to eat, I eat because oh, yeah, it’s a designated time for food. (which might sound the same thing but isn’t.) Putting meals together, even while I’m temporarily settled, is a brain chore I have no energy to attempt. I came home from the grocery with eggs, peanuts and cheese the other day, figuring it’s protein and that’s good. Otherwise, being honest here, I eat crap, because it takes no effort to open a bag or box of something. I drink water when I can but that’s an effort because I don’t want to drink water from the tap (all the chemicals etc and Handsome Husband and I always bought and drank filtered-in-numerous-ways water), and I don’t want to drink bottled water because it’s in the dreaded BPA plastic and I don’t have the energy physically, mentally or emotionally to buy it otherwise and then transfer it to my BPA free water bottle). So I drink diet pepsi. Which is full of aspartame that we all know is cancer-causing. But it’s also caffeine, which I desperately need because I don’t sleep well and need a modicum of energy. None of which makes sense, I realize. It will all kill me. Whatever.
Just writing that short bit about food/water, exhausted me.
I have no sense of being a woman. I love being female. I loved dressing, even when we were on the road, in a way that I knew that my husband would enjoy, colors and styles that would make his eyes light up. I felt so feminine with him, because he was so masculine. He appreciated me, he called me beautiful as a nickname. There was such physical energy between us, at all times, even when we weren’t engaging with each other in a noticeable manner. That’s done and over with. Just an acknowledgement of fact.
I’m disconnected from me. And I just need to be okay with that for now. My tendency of old would be to beat myself up for that, for not exercising, for not eating right, for not taking supplements, for not doing everything I’m supposed to be doing. Frankly, I don’t even have the energy to judge myself. I need, right now, to just be where I am.
Handsome Husband’s memorial service is this Saturday. Once everyone who is joining us to honor and remember him goes home, I have no idea. Not no idea of what will be, just no idea. There’s a huge blank for me. His service will in no way bring closure to anything. That word is a word made up by someone who themselves had no idea.
After Saturday I feel the same way I feel about my being not in my body. I just need to allow it to be. It will be Sunday. I won’t be planning his service any longer is all. I’ll still need to get up, and allow myself to be just where I am, and think ahead as far as getting a new life started. But I know that, in a no I’m not depressed so don’t worry, folks, this is what grief is way, I’ll still be what the title of this blog says.
Missing in action. Mostly to myself.