New Year, Same Struggles
January 1, 2019. A new day, a new year, a fresh new start. Or so it should be, right? That’s what the world tells you. And to be honest, that is sort of how I felt when I woke up on the morning of January 1st: the sun was shining, I felt great, and it was no longer the worst year of my life.
But that symbolism and optimism can only take you so far; despite the turning of the page on the calendar and the addition of a new year, it is just one more day, one more hour in the grieving process. I had overestimated how the new year would make me feel; I had put far too much faith that I would suddenly wake up on January 1st and my sadness would be gone, swept away like the confetti from the night before.
The reality of still feeling the grief, of realizing that this would be the first year I would have zero memories made with Trey, was overwhelming and unexpected. Next year I would not have any Facebook memories pop-up from 2019 reminding me what a wonderful life Trey and I had together, how much we explored the world, and how we never wasted a single moment together. Naively, I had not set myself up for this. I was arriving home on January 1st to an empty house, a house that looked even more sad with its past date Christmas decorations.
On January 2nd, I faced the daunting notion of having to pull myself out of bed and actually face people in my office, when all I wanted to do was stay in bed and cry. And apparently, Mother Nature agreed; the weather matched my mood, cold and dreary, and the chance of flooding saved me from facing people by instead calling a work from home day in the name of safety: physical and mental.
January dragged on and flew by at the same time. I can hardly remember what all I did in January. There were a few highs - PRing my half marathon, both of my best friends from college coming to visit, skiing twice (and successfully navigating moguls for the first time). But for the most part, it just felt blah. I remember some beautiful sunrises and sunsets, but also a LOT of gray. It almost felt as though I floated through the month, watching it from a distance as though I were having an out of body experience.
January was also the first time I really started to have self-pity, which is a terrible, disgusting, destructive enemy. I had not really given in much or allowed the “why me’s” to sneak in before, but now they were filling up my thoughts, creating resentment and bitterness. When someone would share their own frustrations or loss or problems they were going through, all I could think about was HOW MUCH WORSE MY LIFE WAS. I wanted to scream at other people, “at least you got to say goodbye” when they would tell me about their loved one who died after a long, hard-fought struggle with cancer, or “at least you got a lot of time with them” when someone died at an advanced age.
This is not who I was. This is not who I am. Where was my sense of empathy? Where was my ability to remove my victimhood to view my situation for what it was: shitty, yes, but also real-life, and one in which I am lucky enough to be equipped with so many advantages that allow me to continue on with my life. I have amazing friends and family, a great job, a solid education, a safe home, financial stability; as I started to think about all of the things I should be grateful for, I started to feel even worse about myself for being such a self-pitying asshole. This was turning into a fun spiral I didn’t know how to pull myself out of.
On top of it, I’ve begun to experience debilitating anxiety, something I’ve never had before. The worst presents as panic attacks before having to speak or present, of which I was going to have to do (three times in fact) at our sales kick-off at the end of January. This month - that started out with such promise - had quickly taken a hard turn into dark territory. Despite every attempt to do all of the things you’re supposed to do - eat right, get sleep (HA!), exercise, meditate - I just continue to feel stuck. Lost. Suffocating.
It’s now February 4th, and I’m finally getting around to posting this. It’s been 39 weeks since Trey passed away, and I don’t know if I feel closer in my healing or further away. I know I’ve changed and grown, of that there’s no question, but I also know there is so much more I need to do to feel myself again. To not get angry at other people when they, too, are suffering. To not float through life in a daze. To not allow my body to panic over inconsequential things. I don’t know how to get there yet, but I’m committed to continuing this journey of healing and self-forgiveness and self-awareness so that I can live my life to the fullest. I know that’s what Trey would have wanted.
