January 3, 2019

Mood: fine, I guess?

Water intake: 3 - 16.9 ounce bottles

Brain dump:

Today I went grocery shopping. The lamb was on sale, so I bought some. Bought some vegetables to go with it and some fresh bread.

Everything is dismal when you live alone. There’s no one to run your ideas by. No one to say, “oh I’m just talking to myself” when they hear you saying something in a tone they can’t quite hear. That’s life without Jack.

My mother gave me this journal to help me process the loss. I should be grateful, but I can’t quite do anything with passion right now. I use to laugh all the time. Jack was bad at telling jokes but he has the kind of personality that made everyone laugh at mundane things. I can’t remember the last thing Jack did to make me laugh on purpose because he always did things that make me laugh, or giggle like a little school girl.

It’s been three months since he passed away and 6 months since he was last coherent. He had a headache that last for several days and grew worse. I urged him to schedule an appointment, however he just took more medicine and we about his day. After an argument about liver functions and medication did he adhere to my request to get it checked out. And that was that.

Three weeks later he was in a medical acoma he never came out of. I don’t know what is worse. The actually loss of him or the irrational guilt I have for urging him to see a doctor. Maybe he would still be with me if I had not suggested, no begged, him to go to the doctor. Right?

February 19th, 2019

I forgot this existed. Under the council of my mother and the therapist she so graciously referred me too (read as, set up the appointment against my wishes), I now have to journal all the bad feelings away.

I am suppose to reflect on my day, my moods, my habits. What did I eat that day

Nothing.

That’s a lie. I had eggs and toast in the morning. And rice with chicken in the afternoon. I am eating. I’m not ill enough to starve myself, yet how am I suppose to eat when nothing seems to taste good. The only thing I’ve wanted was Jack’s lamb roast and vegetables skewers. He reasoned them just right and grilled them to perfection. In the recent days, I tried to fix them myself. I got angry when I realized I had no idea where the charcoal was in order to start the grill. Before I had realize what I did I threw the prepared food across the yard and sat crying in a heap on the back porch. The neighbors had called my mother to recuse me.

I had cereal for dinner that night.

February 23, 2019

I had fruit loops for dinner again last night. And my 5 session with the therapist this morning. I sat in her office and told her things about my relationship with Jack, the aftermath, my feelings of guilt. We even spoke about my relationship with my parents. I wondered if my mother ever sat in that same room, having different conversations with this woman. How much did she already know about me? How did my mother come to know this woman?

Oh right, I’m suppose to be reflecting, no speculating.

My day: I got up before the sun, drank coffee, ate toast, took a shower and went to work.

My afternoon: I came home sat on my couch and watched the ceiling.

My friend, Sarah, is coming over tonight for what I’m assuming will be another intervention.

You my dear diary never knew me before Jack’s death. I wasn’t all dismay. I was happy and alive. But when a part of you gets stripped away, how do you move on? How do I pick up all little pieces when the glue isn’t there anymore?