These past few days have been hellish. I’ve been stymied by my mood, and thoughts. I have an ongoing issue which I don’t speak often about but the time will come eventually to write about it. My closest friends know how dark my mind can get but it’s not something I think would be a good conversation breaker. I haven’t experienced these overwhelming thoughts in quite some time, and having my mind go to that awful place here when I’m so far from home has been difficult. Like bad. That feeling of treading water in a whirlpool kind of hopelessness. I want it to shake off of me and go away.
Today when I got home from work, I placed my keys on the bookcase where George and my wedding photo is and it fell down. The ice has been cracking beneath my feet with every step I took since waking up. When that photo slipped from its place, my world came down. I stared at his smiling face and I got mad at him for dying. But then I felt guilty about being mad at him. I do remember him fondly. I don’t remember the unfavorable times, but I don’t think there were all that many, to be honest. He was so good to me.
It appears 3 years ago George and I moved into our Jersey City apartment. The beginning of the end. I hated Jersey City. The apartment was beautiful and amazing, but that’s where he died. It’s where my life unraveled. We moved to New Jersey to build a life together and in less than a year, his cancer became active again, his treatments were discontinued and he passed away. For a brief moment in time 3 years ago I had it all: preparing to marry my sweet husband, starting a life together, getting ready to head into my first season as a head coach, waking up to the New York City skyline, and just having so many possibilities at my fingertips. And now I barely have enough motivation to get out of bed this week. What the hell has happened to me?