Losing Interest…

I wasn’t ‘me’.

I knew ‘me’ would take a long time to return again… If it was going to return at all.

Below, is a list of changes that I noticed. The things I lost interest in;

Routine:
Instead of waking up at 6am and going for my morning walk, I’d sometimes wake up 4am and watch some mind numbing television. Sometimes I’d wake up and stay in bed until 11am, and just stare at the ceiling.  Some days I wouldn’t get out of bed at all. There was nothing worth getting up for some days, so I didn’t even bother.

Eating Habits:
I Initially craved for nothing, and lost all interest in my favourite meals. My appetite returned over time, but I had no interest in eating meals that were his or our favourites. I think that was the guilt feeling- not wanting to enjoy it because I knew that he couldn’t. The thought of me eating at our favourite restaurant without him was enough to make me feel nauseous.

TV & Movies:
Shows that I’d watched religiously for many years meant nothing to me. Favourite movies no longer interested me. Sitting down on the couch and concentrating on something for that amount of time didn’t interest me. I remember sitting on the floor of our lounge room and pulling DVD’s out of the cabinet. Movies that I once found humorous or amusing didn’t trigger a single thing when I looked at them. No matter what was on the TV, I always lost focus.

Music:
I’ve always loved music- Heavy Metal, Rock, 50’s Rock and Roll, and pretty much everything. Going to every concert that I’ve wanted to go to, and making the effort of buying the merchandise and all the rest of it. I remember looking through newspapers and seeing that my favourite musicians were touring. I didn’t care. My car would be full of my favourite CD’s. Music is something that always soothed my soul, no matter what my mood was. If I was happy, I’d listen to music. If I was upset, I’d listen to music. I tipped all of my favourite CD’s onto the floor of my room. Not one of them appealed to me. I’d pick one up, I’d put it down…

My Belongings:
What was once a neat and tidy bedroom, soon became something that resembled some sort of disaster zone. Clothes would be thrown in a pile on a chair, while my cupboard stood there in shambles, with clothes spilling out of it. I didn’t care. Dusty shelves? Good. It can stay like that. That load of washing that needs doing? Yeah… not today. I didn’t even open my mail for weeks. That was a pile that just kept growing. I didn’t care for it. I’d drive my car sometimes knowing full well that I may not have enough petrol to get me from one place to the next. I didn’t care.

People:
I stopped caring about people. I stopped replying to text messages. I stopped picking up the phone. I’d see my phone ringing, and then pick it up and place it face down. I didn’t listen to voicemails. I didn’t read all the texts that I’d receive. I’d delete half of them without reading them, depending on who they were from. I stopped asking my parents how they were. I stopped asking how their day was. Putting it simply- I didn’t care. I didn’t have it in me to care about anyone or anything, so I saw no need to pretend to take an interest. I’d give short answers to most things, trying my very best to discourage long conversations with people who I had no desire to talk to.

Me:
I stopped caring about me. I stopped caring about how I looked, and how i presented myself. I remember walking into the bathroom, and standing infront of the mirror. Looking at my face and looking at all of my imperfections. Looking into my own eyes, and hating what I saw. I hated it because I knew what those eyes had seen. I wondered if people saw the same face that I did when they looked at me. Everything that was once part of my daily routine was gone. I’d stand in the shower and not remember if I’d just washed my hair or not. I’d stand there for 20 minutes staring blankly into nothing,while the water would just run over me.

Some of these routine things have returned over time, and some have not.

It was, it has been, and in some regards it is still a very slow process.

The Grief Diet.

Food.
I didn’t want it.
I didn’t crave it.
…My body needed it.
…There was nothing that I wanted to eat.
My mother prepared some of my favourite dishes for me in a hope that it would encourage me, but nothing seemed to work. I held some food in my mouth, chewed it a little, and tried to swallow it. I never seemed to get past the stage of chewing it before it would tumble out of my mouth, and back onto the plate. I felt as though I was being ungrateful, but there was nothing I could do about it.

This is what happened each day, for each meal, for the next 2 weeks or so.

The loss of appetite was enhanced by the overwhelming feeling of guilt. I explained earlier that I felt guilty for every little thing, and I think that sitting down and enjoying a meal was one of them. Shock was still settling in too, and when that happens, you’re certainly not yourself.

It took many weeks for my appetite to return. People had been dropping pre-prepared meals off at the house, and our fridge and freezer was full. The first meal that I ate was lasagne. I remember eating it in the kitchen away from everyone else. I actually cried while I was eating it. I’m not sure if that was the guilt thing coming back, but I sobbed the entire time that I ate it…

I soon went back for seconds, and that was closely followed by a third helping. After that meal, I was back on track for putting some weight back on. I can’t remember how much I’d lost exactly, but it was enough that my clothes hung off of me, and people would say “wow, you look great!”

Yes. That’s a way to lose weight. The grief diet…

Has anybody experienced the opposite of that? Perhaps you, or someone you know, chose to comfort eat and perhaps went about it another way. Perhaps there was no affect- Perhaps others were able to keep to their routine…

The Other F Word. (part two)

I sat down with his family in the front row of the chapel. I turned my head past my shoulder as I heard people enter,  seeing who sat where, and giving the awkward smile to those who managed to give me some sort of small wave before they took their seat.

I stopped looking around once that I saw that my family was seated some rows behind. I knew that they’d be there ofcourse, but it was still comforting when I saw them.

Once everyone was seated, the service began. The Eulogy was written by his father, and he did an amazing job. I was able to share with him, the story of how we met, and I was able to include some of our fondest memories.

The service itself was short and sweet as my boyfriend would complain about services being long winded and unnecessarily dull – so we made sure that it was short, sharp and shiny! We threw a few jokes in too, just to make sure it would be to his liking.

His sense of humour was something that was carried throughout the service- and then into the evening when we held the memorial service for extended family, and friends.

The Memorial Service was beautiful- If I can even use that to describe it. It was a very relaxed setting, and we were surrounded by the people that were nearest and dearest to him.

The majority of people that were there were old school friends of ours. I remember stepping back, while I was sipping my drink, and just looking around, and seeing who was there. Making people’s faces out from the shadows as they socialised with one another.

My initial reaction was: “it’s like a really morbid school reunion…”

The things people said to me were much the same throughout the night-

“I’m so sorry”
“I can’t believe it”
“You’re so strong…”

I was sorry too… I couldn’t believe it either… Strong? Sure… You didn’t see me this morning when I was looking at his body in a coffin, and screaming…

It was the last thing that was said to me that always annoyed me the most.

And one thing, to this day, which still does- “you’re so strong”. For me, at the time, it was like a polite way of saying “wow, you haven’t killed yourself yet? Well done!”

The night was good (it ran smoothly), regardless of things that were said, which annoyed me- (it was bound to happen). When the service finished, and we were standing outside ready to leave, it was like a huge weight had been lifted… We had said all that we wanted to say- Everyone had a chance to say goodbye, and reminisce about some amazing memories…