The Recluse

Got up this morning melancholy.

On days like this it is hard to pass his picture on the wall.

To pass his room.

To smell a smell

To hear a song.

To touch something

All of it comes with a ton of memories and it becomes overwhelming. It happens, no rhyme or reason. You just get up in the morning and its slams you in the face.

There is no fighting it, I realize that now.

Just surrender and get through the day.

I realize that I cannot remain at home everyday with nothing to do. I cannot “take time for yourself”. When you are a Type A, overachieving, workaholic  and are forced to retire due to health reasons, you lose yourself.  Well, at least I did. I find that all this time on my hands is destructive to my mental health. How much can you clean, cook, shop, stare out the window.

I feel if my kid was still here I would be busier. I don’t know why I tell myself that. He would be in his mid twenties and he certainly would not be living here. I guess he was my purpose for a short time and I was lost when he left.

All of my “stuff’ came through staying home. Anxiety, OCD, obsessed about every pain and or lump. I try to walk a couple of miles a day to make me think I’m doing something but then what?

So time for me to volunteer. I miss working in a hospital. I used to work in a hospital many years ago in Brooklyn. I miss the chaos of the ER. I miss the hospital environment. I miss the helping profession. It humbles you and takes you out of your own head.

I believe for someone like me all this time alone in my head is a mistake. I need to keep busier that I am now. I need a volunteer position to help me focus on something other than the 400 health problems. Half are which are in my head.

I miss being me. Trouble shooting, taking care of other people’s problems, finding solutions.

I would like to just surrender to being a lazy slob but I can’t. I am driven and need to accomplish something everyday. Even if it is washing the kitchen floor 4 times in one day.

I cook a lot…..a lot. I live with a man who has simple food needs… meat and potatoes. I tend to experiment with a more diverse ethnic menu. I always have too much food which I then give away.

I find cooking a very zen experience for me. I will have all burners going, chopping, stirring, tasting. I blast my music and go to another place. It is one of the few things that makes me happy.

It is early in the morning as I write this post, and my anxiety is already high. I am trying to think of what I can do today to stay out of my head which at times is my enemy. I have reoccurring health problems which piss me off. It pisses me off only because I have been a fairly healthy person until a few years ago. So I don’t handle it well when something is wrong with my body. I get pissed, like an asshole. There are very ill people, I’m not one of them. So I try to mentally slap myself to get it together, but it is easier when you work and have a purpose driven life like I used to.

I believe the PTSD has done damage to my immune system, I seem to pick up infections an other shit faster than I ever did. I was never sick or at the doctor’s office. Now I am always fighting something and I’m always at the doctor’s office. I never leave the office without a new diagnosis, so it is not all in my head. My internist thinks Lyme destroyed me, I agree.

But then in the middle of this crazy fest, I get the fuck out of my bed, tell myself get yourself together and move on. Get up go out, walk, then go food shopping, come home, cook, clean, read, dance call all my friends to bull shit. I realize this is not gonna work because after all that, I look at he clock and its only 9:30 A.M. Oh fuck, now what.

I wanted to stay home  to be able to travel with Frank. But for the last three years either him or I got sick and had to stay local for follow-up MD appointments. Unable to travel due to physically painful health problems. I can’t keep staying home waiting to travel. I will volunteer and when and if we go somewhere I can just leave the volunteer position for a while.

I feel guilty for not living a life. A life that was filled with love and laughter and a sense of family. I miss my kid and all that he brought to my life. I need to find a purpose. My purpose has always been people driven. Every job I ever had has been with the public. It’s hard but It’s what I like. I should have left my last job for many reasons. I should have never stopped working. I have tried to develop several hobbies which I enjoyed. For me not the same thing as being out in the world.

I am not blaming the kids death on all these problems. I know who I am. And although I agree I should have left my job when I did to finally deal with the loss, I should have created something new or returned to the work force sooner. It is who I am. It is a much healthier coping skill then staying home and obsessing about shit I cannot change.

Teresa who has a similar personality says we are not living we are existing. I have to agree. I became, in staying home much like a recluse. You have to be careful as it becomes too comfortable to shut down and stay home in your own world. Even if that world is fucked up. It is very seductive to immerse yourself in this safe cocoon.

But it is a lie. A false sense of security. The cocoon becomes suffocating. I feel like I can’t breathe, choking on my fake safety net.

And maybe I can make my kid proud again. Maybe he will know I didn’t give up. He knew I was a tough cookie. He knew I was tenacious and a fighter. I don’t want to fail my kid.

In his memory I will clean up my shit and start to help people again.

In his memory I will return to who I am.

In his memory I  will try to make him proud of his car wreck of a mother.

In his memory I will move to a better place in my head.

In his memory I will become the person he knew.

In his memory I will start to live, because he cannot.