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.

Two little words… (part one)

I knew that a lot of time had passed since I’d seen the surgeon last. I knew because I didn’t take my eyes off of the clock. It was one of those situations where no matter where I looked; I’d be met with people’s equally as concerned and saddened faces. Everyone that was there was there for the same reason.  They wanted answers, and they wanted to know that their loved ones were alright. Eventually, after a long wait, the surgeon made an appearance. As soon as I made eye contact with him, I knew what he was going to say. I think without even saying it, he could tell that I already knew, too.

Two little words was all it took. Two little words that broke my heart. Two little words that changed my life forever.

“I’m sorry”

The thoughts that ran through my head at that moment were unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
I felt as though I was drowning. I was drowning in sadness, anger, frustration and disbelief. The emotional pain that I felt was more intense than any physical pain that I’d experienced in my 25 years of life. There were literally no words for how much it hurt. It was incomparable.

I immediately felt ill and excused myself as I ran to the bathroom. No sooner had I pushed the door open and I had already laid my fist into the nearest wall. The anger that consumed me at that moment was toxic and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I decided that punching the closest thing to me was a good idea. I remember looking down at my hand and seeing how much it was shaking, and watching the graze appear across my knuckles.  It hurt but it didn’t bother me. In a weird sort of way, it was warmly welcomed, as it created a brief distraction from the real pain that I was feeling.

After I had a good scream, yelled a little, and managed to stop crying for just a minute, I made my way back to the room where I was once again with his family. We managed to splutter out a ‘thank you’ to the surgeon, and the surgical team who tried their very best to save his life. I know that they worked tirelessly and did all they could. There were no bad feelings towards them, whatsoever.

We walked down the hallway with the surgeon, until we came to a point where a curtain was drawn shut. He stepped aside and told us to take our time saying goodbye.

It was then that I realised that I would never again hear his voice. I knew that I would never again be held in his arms. I knew that there would be no more beautiful memories made. I knew that the journey that he and I had shared, was over. There was no more ‘us’. There was no more him.There was quite literally nothing else.

I knew that as soon as I walked behind that curtain, I would never be the same again.