I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t concentrate. I’m miserable and that’s really the only way to describe it. There have been a handful of short breaks in that misery but, for the most part, I just feel stuck and there really isn’t much I can do to get unstuck besides reminding myself that it will slowly but surely start getting better. But the worst part is the constant guilt I feel. It never ends. No matter the situation I am, I feel guilty. I have guilt because I’m still here. I have guilt for not being able to help T before the paramedics got to the house. Then I have even more guilt because I’m still here and he isn’t. I have guilt when I get angry or frustrated with anyone, especially one of the many people who are just trying to help me. I have guilt for all of the times I was frustrated with Taylor for the smallest, most inconsequential things like waking me up when I still had time to sleep or making dinner plans and not telling me until the day of. I would do anything to go back and soak up every second of that time I had left. But the worst guilt happens when I drag myself out of bed in the morning and start my day or the moments I find myself smiling or laughing. Why am I the one who is still here but he isn’t? How can I enjoy anything without him here? I have guilt for being frustrated that he isn’t here to help me through this. I have guilt for not doing more to support our family and friends who are also grieving. I have guilt because I STILL can’t remember if the i or the e comes first in the word grief even though I know the stupid rhyme about it. Guilt even shows up during the off chance that I actually get some sleep. Even my dreams involve the many different versions of guilt I feel.
My last piece of guilt – there isn’t any inspiration or message behind this post. There’s no way to ease the guilt or lessen the severity of it. Right now this is just reality.