I’m moving in a fog. I’m participating in my life, but everything is blurred. It doesn’t feel like a DID, personality switching issue. Just a general fog. The recent re-awakening of grief issues has thrown everything in to chaos, and I cannot seem to get the bloody fog to lift.
My ability to focus is relatively non-existent. Bills have gone unpaid, prescriptions have gone unfilled, laundry has gone undone. I’m acting out the motions. The day after the Candle Lighting Ceremony, I was so dazed that I barely moved. By the end of the week, I’d come out of that stupor enough to start moving about again. Now I’m just stuck in that fog. I drive to Wal-Mart and stand in the middle of the store for a half hour trying to remember why I’m there in the first place. I do stupid things like miss the exit off the Interstate that I’ve taken for years and get myself lost in familiar places. I hear Andy’s voice sometimes and wake up with an urgent need to go looking for him, even though he lived 5000 miles away. I dial Alan’s telephone number and am surprised when someone else answers. I see my life as divided in to before and after. Two years have passed since Alan and Andy died, but with my best friend’s help, I’m just now starting to *look* at the after. As he said, though, it’s been there all along. Everything works round to what is currently the central issue.
My confidence is gone as well. Little tasks that I could do almost without thinking take an enormous amount of energy, and spending time with anyone other than my best friend and his immediate family is terrifying. I feel an enormous amount of pressure to appear settled, but I also know that appearing settled isn’t always an option these days. I feel at the mercy of the (safe) people around me. I *need* the spontaneous hugs and random bits of reassurance. I’m used to feeling completely self-sufficient, but at the moment I’m depending on my best friend to hold me up from time to time.
Mind you, life does go on. I’ve regained the ability to smile, laugh, and appear, for the most part, as though nothing is going on. People who know me well have commented that my eyes look sad these days. I don’t mention *why* my eyes look sad, just that I’m going through a tough time at the moment. At the end of the day, I’m so exhausted from keeping up the façade that I literally fall in to bed sometimes. In the morning, it’s sometimes a matter of coaching myself step by step to actually get out of bed and start the day again. I feel self-indulgent and silly, but for once, my emotions have a greater hold on my actions than I do. I can’t seem to shrug things off completely.
Things among my internal folks are chaotic as well. Kathy, who is normally the internal peacemaker, is frantic. She’s tired of trying to keep everyone calm when there’s so much Stuff floating about inside. The kids are grouchy and complain to my best friend that the big peoples are stuffing things again. Even Mairead is a bit more sluggish these days. The physical aspects of grief are dragging down my body, and that seems to be having a sort of global effect on my others as well.
I’m trying to write about my feelings, but my lack of concentration gets in the way. It’s like I’ve reached that breaking point and am really struggling to put things back together even slightly. Andy wasn’t living with me at the time of his death, and over the past few years we had been communicating most frequently with the help of one of my insiders– we did what was necessary to keep him safe from my father. Still, he was my child and the hope of something good to come out of all the crap that happened in my family.
The shred of good news involved in all of this is that my perspective, along with some other fundamental aspects, has changed dramatically. Nothing worse can happen. In the shade of Andy’s death and the cult-related circumstances involving that, everything else is minor. Cult activities can’t shake me now. Even the solstice was a mere blip on the radar. I don’t think they quite anticipated that reaction.