I'm not crazy

Song of the day: 

Animal Collective

Kinda Bonkers

But maybe I am. I looked it up. 
The definition of crazy is a mentally deranged person. 

I looked up deranged.

 mad; insane 

I looked up insane. 

in a state of mind that prevents normal perception, behavior, or social interaction; seriously mentally ill 

There we go. 


Then I found this. 

"Complicated Grief Disorder, also known as traumatic or prolonged grief. The new diagnosis refers to a situation in which many of grief’s common symptoms—such as powerful pining for the deceased, great difficulty moving on, a sense that life is meaningless, and bitterness or anger about the loss—­last longer than six months."

Powerful pining. 
Check.
Difficulty moving on, if this includes extreme anxiety about decisions having to be made that would have normally been made with him, if this means I sleep with his dirty, smelly tan t-shirt every night because I pray to God or anyone listening that they will send him back to me, then...
Check. 
Sense that life is meaningless. Honestly, there are days. What's the point? What's the reason? Old life, new life, balance. How? 
Check.
Bitterness and anger about the loss.
Oh, yeah. Not at Christopher though, and believe me I've tried being angry at him. I chose him in this life though and there were some that didn't understand why I chose him over and over and over again. But I did. In life and death.
Check.

Yesterday was a really hard day. I was insulted from the start and then it just spiraled. The saving grace was Alexander's baseball game, nail biting excitement. They lost but they played with such spirit and tenacity, hard to focus on a crummy day when these kids are out there hustling their hearts out. Parents cheering, yelling at umpires (they get a beating, huh), mesmerized by seven and eight year olds playing like pint sized pros. Reminders that life is still here, ticking along and even if the start felt meaningless, those pint sized pros need their fans. 

I've noticed a pattern. The date creeps, adding another number to the months that he's been gone. I wonder if he'd be in the same spot had it been me that died? Sobbing, praying for answers and questioning life at its core. Doing his absolute best to create a happy life for our kids. Existing and grasping at any straw that resembles some form of what he used to be, what we were, what I was.  

It is possible I'm insane. I don't need a straight jacket. 
This type of insane comes from deep, complicated, grief.

Deep.
Complicated.
Grief.

I don't buy the disorder part. Love is not a disorder and just because he's dead, well that doesn't mean I can stop loving. 

He can't be replaced. I can be a highly functioning griever. 

I won't stop moving and shaking, my heart may just always be breaking.

Maybe I should write country songs? 

I don't need a straight jacket, just a tan t-shirt.