As I sit in the waiting room of my therapist’s office while Luke finishes his appointment (I got waitlisted this week)I am looking positively mierable. A woman sitting across from me asks “Are you ok?”
“Oh yeah, just tired” I say, fighting to hold back tears. Because I am not ok. I am tired, it’s true. But more than that I am anxious, depressed and angry. I feel both everything and nothing simultaneously.
She responds with “Yeah I bet your exhusted with that little cutie!” I don’t bother telling her that Gwen has been sleeping through the night nice she was six weeks old- It’s me who doesn’t sleep. Instead I just answer with a fake chuckle and a meek “Yeah”. She goes on to say “I bet you’re really looking forward to Christmas, it’s going to be so much fun with her”
I want to spill my guts to this lady, to make her feel bad for saying such a dumb thing, but I know it’s not her fault, she’s a stranger and doesn’t know my story. So instead I say “Christmas isn’t really good time of year for us”. At this point she gave her condolences and stopped talking to me, which I was grateful for.
I could see this time of year headed for me like a train in the distance. At first I kept trying to outrun it, but now the weight of my grief has bound me helplessly to the tracks and I know it’s going to hit me harder than it ever has. I have noticed myself becoming less motivated and more irritable. I have nightmares that startle me awake almost every night, I’m not sleeping well, I haven’t been eating much, I just want to hibernate through December 23rd.