Saturday was great fun, Sunday morning, not so much. Tequila usually doesn’t hit me too hard and I managed to get it out of it without hurling, but dear god my head hurt Sunday morning! But the house warming was a rousing success. I had a great time and think the rest did to, at least I hope so. 

 

As much fun as it was, there was some small revelations as well. I’ve been pretty reflective and maybe a little overly sentimental since Mom died. I know this and have tried to just let it run its course but I’m starting to think it may be doing more harm then good. This phase of mine is a big reason why I haven’t posted a deep, emotional post here about her death. I don’t know that it’d be good for me right now, seeing as how I’ve been ‘in my head’ for the last 10 months. It’s getting a bit scary in there, I must say. 

 

What the hell am I talking about? You want a point to that rambly paragraph? Well, aren’t you demanding! 

 

Saturday, before the tequila took hold, a thought worm that’s been biding its time these past few months, bloomed big and bad. I looked at my friends and family. I saw people who’ve known me forever, people who’ve known me for just a few months. There were people who’ve seen me at my worst; people who’ve cheered my triumphs like their own, people who love me more than I deserve. People I absolutely adore. People I’d bury bodies for without a second thought, people I trust with my life, my heart and my books. I swelled up with love and joy and I felt humbled and special and blessed beyond words. Yay, happy happy awesome, for about thirty seconds. 

Then the terror bubbled up. 

 

I am so sick with fear of losing someone else. I’m paralyzed with it. Choked with it. I’ve never, ever been this scared of anything in my life. Last night I lay in bed, with The Boy snoring beside me (stupid sleep apnea) and almost lost it. I’d just tried to explain to him how scared I was of losing him and I failed. He told me he’d try to get healthier, but I don’t think he understood what I was saying. I am emotionally drained, I’m grieving and sad and I know all that is normal. The hard-ass logical side of my brain says this fear is normal too, but fuck, why is it so damn strong?! 

 

It has gotten the point where at least a few times a day I look at someone I care about and have an internal freak out about them dying. It’s exhausting and depressing and contributes heartily to my strange mood swings. I can’t stay happy for very long, no matter what. I don’t know how to fix this. I keep hoping it’ll go away, that it is just a normal reaction to losing such a huge part of my life and I’ll learn to cope. I don’t usually associate fear with ‘bad’ emotions. I usually like it, on a roller coaster for instance, or moving some place new or driving way too fast. I’m used to fear being a wiggly, prickly thing in my stomach and goose bumps and that crazy, almost high thrill of being alive. 

 

Now it’s something completely different. It’s cold and huge and painful. I do stupid things like count up the numbers of people in my life and figure the law of averages states x number will have some terrible accident or get some horrid disease or god knows what. I don’t even do it consciously anymore, it seems to happen on its own until I’m centimeters from a full panic attack at the thought of which one? Who will I lose? Who is unhealthy? Who drives like an idiot? And so on until only a tight grip pulls me back from hyperventilating and find something, anything to distract me from the morbid thoughts. Hell, I even do real work to get away from it and we all know how much I love doing actual insurance work. 

 

I don’t really know what to do at this point. It’s gotten so I avoid some people, trying to pull away from loved ones without thinking about it. Trying not to care as much as I cower from the idea of the pain, the pain of losing someone else. That’s really what it is. I’m terrified of the immense grief, the deep sadness, the whole process of losing someone. It’s times like this I wish I had the kind of personality that is comfortable with religion. Faith just isn’t a part of who I am, but it’d be damned useful at times like this. 

 

I’m hoping writing this out will help. I’m hoping some more time will help. I realize if it doesn’t I’m going to have to bite the bullet and find some outside help. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I’ll do what I have to. It hasn’t even been a year since Mom died. There are probably a hundred other thought worms and mental changes happening or waiting to happen to me as I learn to live this whole new, Mom-less life. I fully expect to spend the rest of life grieving in some way. I’m giving myself time and space to get over the worst of it, but fuck, it’s hard. 

 

P.S. The moral of this story is, don’t call me and tell me if you do something stupid, like drive your car off a ramp or jump through flaming hoops on a motorcycle. Please, I’m begging you, for the sake of my sanity, don’t do anything stupid. Or at least, don’t tell me about it!