widow bitch

this is what i've become lately.
i stopped my meds (except for anxiety and sleeping ones) 2 weeks ago today. i did it cold turkey, which i know is not a good idea, after my therapist told me i might have PSTD.
that's it, i want it to end. i don't want to do this anymore. i'm tired of grieving, i'm tired of being numb. i want myself back.
i missed my last 2 appointment's with my therapist and i won't be convinced to go back anytime soon.
i feel like a coward taking the pills and going to the therapist. when jim's death came at me with flying glass and fists i thought, bring it, i wasn't going to let that scare me away. now here i am, fleeing from my own feelings, from this pain death left behind. i have to go through this...naturally. i want to feel like i've made it to the other side with my mind.
some rough emotions are headed my way, i can feel them coming. and i want to meet them head on.

Reason to Join a Support Group-2

I started crying uncontrollably at a bar in a nice restaurant; not giving a fuck who saw me or what they thought.

Dear Blog,
    Get ready for a terrible shock.
I haven't cried over Jim in 3 days. As a matter of fact, I haven't even missed him in those 3 days. Am i over him? So soon, after 4 1/2 months? I doubt it, this reprieve is probably part of the grief. But I'm not exactly happy yet. I feel a lot like Arwen looks in this picture.  She had just picked her first apple from a tree. We thought she would be so happy and jump up with glee. Instead she just goes and sits on a curb, stares at the open field in front of her and holds her little apple. 

Arwen, Germany 2007, sitting
with some rotten apples.

So do I need you anymore since I'm not actively grieving? I don't know. 

Yours,

    G

Reasons to Join a Support Group -1

Gayle can sit for hours unlapsed,
doing nothing but stare at a box full of ash.

Caregiving Blooper

Caregivers, we aren't perfect. Most people hear of what we "put up with" or "go through" and suddenly they view us with a halo around our head. But we make mistakes, we breakdown.
Case in point:
June 2010. Jim is lying on his side of the bed watching tv. I'm not sure if he is watching the soft porn that we used to put on for him when we needed him to stay in a room. We did this so that we could go clean whatever mess, be it fecal matter or something you didn't need gloves for, he had made. Or hell, maybe I just needed some down time. I don't remember why he was in the room contently watching tv but he was.
Coming to the point; I was in my ambien daze as I frequently was (is) those nights. I sat on my knees by jims bedside and I held his hand softly crying. I remember kissing and wiping my tears on it.
No response, just keeps his eyes fixed on the screen,that's why I think the soft porn was playing. Anyhow, I call his name softly, "Jim".
He looks down at me "yes?"
I clutch his hand and put it to my chest. With tears in my eyes, " did you know that you are going to die?"
He looks at me blankly "no, I didn't".
I continue, " yes you are, very soon in fact".
His face changes. Then with the voice of a sulking toddler, "Oh nooo." He even pouts out his bottom lip.
I return his giant hand to my face, softly crying into it. I felt like we just shared a painfully intimate moment, I kiss his hand and tell him that I love him and that I will go with him though this whole thing. My heart is overflowing with the experience we just had...
Then I loving look up at him for a reassuring response.
He is staring blankly at his soft porn again.
I give out a disgusted guff. Then he looks at me, smiles, and in a gingerly tone, "Hello".

My brother loves to tell people this story, of how I told Jim he was dying. And he laughs so hard. But no one else laughs. Stories about our Jim in dementia experience always start out with "Once, when Gayle was on ambien..." -and they usually are funny. But only to us, only to Jim if it were the pre-dementia him.
And as soon as my brother starts telling one of these stories, the halo that I used to see people envisioning me with starts to disappear. Then I say " Well you know, it's hard being a caregiver..." looking at my feet.

Dear Jim,
 I went into your office yesterday looking for a DVD, on my way out I did what I always do when I leave. 
I looked at a message you wrote on one of your white boards.

(You wrote the part in red, in case you didn't know.) 
Why did you write this? I stare at it for a good 5 minutes or so before i give a heavy sigh and leave. Just tears fall down and stop by the time i reach the kitchen. I hear you telling me "Come on Gayle. Your mind is a powerful thing. Just erase the boards, donate most of the books, put my things in trunks and MOVE ON!"
But I can't do that Jim, I can't imagine how disappointed in me you must be. How many times I've heard you tell me " Come on Gayle, you know better then that." 
I'm a selfish person Jim, I wasn't strong enough to do what you would have wanted. I was always thinking about me; about what I wasn't going to let death steal from "me". 
But death was only taking what was rightfully his. And I won't erase this board. Hopefully, I will get to add my own message before death comes for me. And we will stay connected in this board in our words.
Love, 
    Gayle

Why?

Did he not deseverve to live? Were there no good reasons enough for him to stay? Did he have to die while already being half dead? Why couldn't he die while at least being alive?
Why God? Why?
Silence.
Nothing? Is this your answer? Just, silence?
I can't even feel the Holy Spirit giving me a reassuring nudge that all questions will be answered in time.
As a matter of fact, I can't even hear the Holy Spirits breath while sitting next to me as my soul asks these questions.
But my faith answers me. It is steadfast with its reply. It says that it doesn't know why. It acknowledges my questions. It is not silent.
So my soul asks and my faith answers. But why not you God? Why?