Irritations And Emotional Triggers

A piece of me died on the 8^th April 2010.

The thought never left my mind- “he’s dead”.

It’s a strange thing, to be sitting down, amongst friends enjoying a cup of coffee at a café, and seeing life go on. Seeing them laugh and chat, talk about their husbands/partners and all other ‘normal’ topics of conversation. A small part of me genuinely cared for their stories. The larger part of me wanted to tell them to shut up, get over it, and be grateful for what they had.

A majority of my friends were incredibly mindful of those sorts of things. They knew that I still cared about their relationships, but they knew I had a very low tolerance to some certain topics. Long story short, if my friends had said that they miss their spouse after not seeing them for a night or two while they were away for work, this would upset me.

Were they honestly that inconsiderate to tell me that they ‘miss’ their partner? For one night? They’re upset because their partner is taking too long to reply to a text message? Seriously… For  a second… think about how that makes me feel.

A few caught on to what was a wanted conversation and what was not- some would start telling me a story, and then they’d realise where it was going, and quickly change the topic. I could not help the way I was reacting to certain things. My reactions were automatic, and in most cases, were unable to be filtered. In simpler terms, I could be talking one minute, and hear a simple word or sentence that would trigger me to get upset, and then I’d lose it. I never had enough time to compose myself in the early stages, but it improved over time.

Apart from conversations about how people’s partners were, the other thing that was annoying for me was seeing it. Walking in to someone’s home, and seeing happy wedding photos, or seeing hand written notes stuck on the fridge from one another.

It was the visual things that were worse. I avoided social gatherings for quite some time, as it hurt too much to see everyone together, and even though I was assured that If I went with some friends, “I’d be fine”… No. I didn’t care for it. I didn’t want people coming up to me and putting a hand on my shoulder, and giving me a hug and saying “I’m so sorry”. No. I didn’t want to feel uncomfortable, and I didn’t want other people to feel uncomfortable about me being there and not knowing what to say. So, I avoided many things. I decided to ultimately remove myself from the situation.

Little things like going to shopping centres were the same. I’d see couples walking hand in hand through the mall… Seeing a middle aged couple with children, and wondering what could have been… Seeing elderly couples enjoying a quiet coffee, and holding hands across the table. I remember having about 2 sips of a coffee at a café once, before I just got up and left because there were just too many happy couples there.

I was aware that people weren’t purposely rubbing things in my face, but it sure did feel like it sometimes. This was depending on the kind of day I was having… some days were worse than others.

There are so many triggers that can happen on a day to day basis. It was only after I sat down and actually thought it about, they certainly were everywhere…

It was walking behind someone with his hair, his height and his build.

It was seeing someone in the distance that smiled just like he did.

It was hearing someone laugh, laughing just like he did.

It was catching the scent of the cologne he use to wear as someone walked by.

It was hearing his favourite song on the radio… then seeing an empty passenger seat.

It was seeing someone walk past wearing the same shirt he wore on your first date.

It was seeing something in a shop that I knew he’d love.

It was remembering a funny story, and wanting to tell him because I knew he’d laugh.

People always tell me to remember the good times. That’s the most painful bit.

Remembering how happy you actually were.

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.