From All of Us, To You

It has almost been five months since my lovey left me. It has been exactly four months since my last post. Time flies when you are in denial.

In the days and weeks following Jamie's accident, I felt compelled to write. I had so many thoughts, and so many memories, I felt I had to put them down ... make them known. I needed something tangible, to prove it was real.

But then I spiraled down into a deep, dark, terrifying place in my mind. I waited, night after night, for my Jamie to come home. I sat in the bathtub while the shower water pounded down around me, staring at the tiles as if they'd tell me where he'd gone. I was comatose.

My mind was so broken down I actually convinced myself that if I quit writing about it, it would stop being real. And I believed it. So I abandoned my blog. I ignored emails and most phone calls. I left my bedroom, closing the door on that part of my heart and my mind. I would spend subsequent nights on the couch, the floor, or with friends. I was too scared to go in that room alone.

And now, four months have passed--in the blink of an eye and yet at a snail's pace, somehow. I cannot explain it. There is a large portion of this year I cannot account for. How could it be July already?

I am a different person now. Not a better person, or a healthier person, or even a half-way normal person. Just a different person. This person is still so lost, and confused. And horribly, terribly, tragically sad. I wish I had a better word to describe it. I like to think I am a decent writer. I am a teacher. I love language and words are exciting to me. But the only word I can find to describe how I feel is "sad". Infinitely sad.

I feel like this person I have become has multiple personalities. I refer to them as personalities rather than moods because each is keenly aware of the others. None ever controls me completely. But there is always one that takes center stage, and the rest of us sit back and calmly watch the drama unfold.

Numb Jessie is the personality I am most intimately acquainted with, as I see her most often. You can recognize her by that glazed over look in her eyes. She is the one that spends hours a day sitting on the couch, "watching" television. (I say "watching" because she usually can't recall what she has seen.) Numb Jessie finds herself at Target with no recollection of driving there. She goes through the motions of daily life without hardly feeling anything at all. Numb Jessie appears when I cannot cope ... which is most of the time. You will often see Numb Jessie on Sundays. Church is difficult for us.

Psychotic Jessie is completely unreasonable, but kind of fun (if you are into the manic type). Numb Jessie does not approve of her at all. She is hyper energized, and unpredictably emotional. She laughs too loud at things that aren't funny. She zips around the apartment cleaning like a crazy person. She yells, screams, and screeches over the smallest little infraction. It doesn't take much to tip her over the edge, in one direction or another. Psychotic Jessie sobs. Not many of the personalities cry, but Psychotic Jessie does. She sobs mournfully, but only when we are alone. She is certifiably insane.

There are many more of us. Angry Jessie is scary. Watch out for her. She has fire in her eyes and takes no prisoners. Just ask the office staff at our apartment complex! Fake Jessie thinks everything is normal ... Jamie is not gone, life does not suck, and breathing is not painful. (Fake Jessie and Psychotic Jessie have been known to trigger each other.) Defiant Jessie makes idiotic choices to feel she has regained control. She chooses not to eat, she chooses not to sleep. But gosh darnit she feels powerful. Compulsive Jessie binges on things she believes might make her feel better--Cheez-its, Cadburry Eggs, shoes. Compulsive Jessie is unpredictable and highly unstable. But I suppose we all are.

Then there is the Dignified Widow. She is not so much a personality as a role that all the others have rehearsed. Do not be fooled: this woman is not one of the Jessies. She is an imposter. A fake, a sham, a performance for the rest of you who are not equipped to deal with, or should not be exposed to, the Jessies and their drama.

If I ever seem composed, you are not speaking with us, you're speaking with the Dignified Widow. She is the woman you may have seen at the funeral. She wears high heels and has impeccable make up. Her clothes are not wrinkled, her hair is not out of place, and she speaks softly. She smiles easily. She seems like a woman who is better and stronger for what she has suffered. We hate the Dignified Widow. She is nothing more than a facade. The Jessies wear pajama pants and have a bad case of bed head. We are freakishly emotional. Maybe we're jealous of the DW. But we hate her all the same.

Tonight, I am Hurt Jessie. Hurt Jessie feels the pain. She is one of the criers. Oddly, she is also the most honest of us all. For Hurt Jessie, the world feels raw. But the beautiful thing about Hurt Jessie is that she is willing to open her bruised heart for you to look into. Hurt Jessie aches and is not afraid to talk about it. She embraces the sickness.

Hurt Jessie led me to the computer tonight and told me it was time to start writing again. Not because I'm prepared to deal with this, or because I have accepted this situation, but because it is time. I am not sure what the outcome will be. Whether this blog will help me, or someone else, I cannot say. It will probably be ugly, and embarrassing, and very, very scary. But Hurt Jessie told me to write ... and she had such pain in her eyes, I could not tell her no.