Where are you this rainy Friday night?

I'm actually not sure that it IS raining tonight but it drizzled all day and was cold and just looked and felt miserable.  I had returned home by 11:30 am and spent the rest of the day sorting through tubs which haven't been looked at since we moved in here.  It's just another coping mechanism.   Every day I have a routine I follow; it get's me out of the house and helps me hold onto my sanity.  Most days I meet someone I know, but not all days.  Although the social contact is important to me, I think the more important issue is that I am dressing and going out the door. 

For many montha after Michael died, I went back to bed every morning when my husband left for work at 5:30 am.  I would turn on the classic movie channel and just lay there watching old movies.  The longer I stayed in bed, the more difficult it was to get up.  One morning I decided that I would try changing my habits a bit.  I choose to think of this as a step forward, however small it might have been:  I moved my pillow and quilt downstairs to the chesterfield and curled up there, turning on the classic movie channel.  Baby steps. 

I didn't want to see anyone, but gradually, as friends and my daughters encouraged me, I was able to start to go out once a week.  I made that my goal, just one time each week, making arrangements to meet someone for coffee.  I cried most of each day and every night and I depended on anti-anxiety meds for respite from the pain and also for sleep at night.  But there were other things I felt were important to start us on our road to any kind of healing.  The most important of these was my need to continue Michael's battle with some of the beaurocratic mistakes which had been made during his last two years with us, and which contributed greatly to his stress. I did have my say.  In a rather cliche-ish act, I took three 8 x 10 glossy photos of him to people involved so they would put a face to the name.  Michael would not just be another statistic.   I was very angry.  The anger is still there.  Had anyone admitted that perhaps some error of judgement had been shown, if anyone had said "I'm sorry" my anger might have started to dissipate but what I have learned through this is that very few people accept responsibility for anything. 

I realize that Michael chose to end his life.  Ultimately that decision was his, and his alone.  But, the amount of stress, unnecessary, unfair stress he was subjected to aided in making his life unbearable.  Michael had a mood disregulation which made it very difficult for him to accept things which he saw as unjust.  Some people can just walk away from things like that. Some can't.  Michael continued to fight, right to the end of his life, for some fairness.  It never came. 

So, I continue to look for ways to make it through my days, without making those days worse.