I have been extra exhausted lately. Is it school? Is it work? Is it the fact that it gets dark by 5:00 pm? Well, maybe a little bit has to do with that. But I think the real reason is something much bigger, and something much more difficult to deal with; I attend my husband’s funeral daily.
Of course, not really. He’s still alive and (God willing) will be for many years to come. But lately, more than ever before, I’ve been terrified of death. My own death. My parents’ death. And now, my husband’s death.
I was always paranoid. When I was a kid, I would cry every time my parents went out. Not because I missed them, but because I worried they would never come back. As I got older, it sort of went away…but not completely.
And after I got married, for whatever reason, it become 1000 times worse.
The drawings below are thoughts I have legitimately had.
Every time I have these thoughts, I mourn at his funeral held in my mind. And it’s exhausting. And it’s depressing. And it’s frustrating. I have been feeling much more depressed than usual lately, and during my counselling session on Monday, we linked it back to these thoughts. I’ve become obsessed with death.
Every time we go on the highway, we crash. Every time I go on a walk, I’m kidnapped and murdered. Every time Jeff goes to school, he dies.
As I’m sure you can imagine, or maybe have experienced yourself, this thought process wears you out quickly.
I noticed I was doing something else too. Every time I thought Jeff had died (almost every single day), I would try to go over all the annoying things he did. Because maybe if I remembered only the bad, losing him wouldn’t hurt so much. I didn’t even know I was doing this until Monday counselling.
Obviously this was putting a strain on our relationship and I didn’t even realize it. Let’s be real here: anxiety and depression do affect relationships. It’s how you both choose to deal with it that matters.
So what do I do now? Honestly, I’m still trying to figure it out. I’m tired of reliving my husband’s (and my own) fantasy death every single day. I know that counselling is helping A LOT. And talking about it, and admitting that this is something I struggle with, has also made me feel so relieved.
I’m okay admitting that I don’t have this all figured out yet. But at least I’m working on it.