Two Years

by misglitter

Two years to the day. It seems like just yesterday, or a lifetime ago. Either way, it doesn’t feel like two years. I can’t tell if it’s time that’s eased the wounds, or if I’ve just put up such a fight against allowing those emotions in that they’re blocked out. I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.

After all this time you’d think that the anxiety wouldn’t be nearly as prevalent, but it seems to be just the opposite. For months after Bobby died I lived in the house we shared. Now I can’t even go into the city we lived in without having a minor panic attack. Last night I dreamt about being in bed, waking up and rolling over, outstretching my hand to meet the cold, blue flesh of his shoulder. When I actually woke up, it was hours before my alarm was set to go off. I closed my eyes to try and get more sleep, but all I could see were horrific images over and over and over and over. I cried to myself all morning. I cried to myself every time I was in the car. I cried to myself every time I was alone.

On days like today, I need extra hugs, extra words of encouragement, extra patience and most of all, extra love. Day after day I suppress thoughts and feelings, and sometimes I can’t help but let them come flooding out. It’s my one day to be sad and gloomy, and I took full advantage of it.

A few days ago, I was pretty upset for unrelated issues.  I wanted  a hug and to be told I’m loved, but I never got it that night and I felt pretty low. It made me think, “What if that’s what I did to Bobby? What if I made him feel lower than the lowest of low?” The last thing I remember him saying was, “Please don’t do this,” as he climbed into bed, sobbing to me. I rolled over and went to sleep. He wasn’t making sense and it was 5 a.m. “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” I said.

I know I’m not the most pleasant person when I’m woken up, and my biggest fear is that he tried to wake me to get that hug, that love, he so desperately needed, and I said something mean. I know I can’t blame myself for whatever actions he decided to take, but it’s hard not to think about the ‘what if?’ What if I had been less critical? What if I had been more patient? What if I had been more affectionate?

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. More questions that will forever be unanswered. I’d give anything to know what the tipping point was that night, what was going on in his head, what I could have done differently, what he was feeling deep in his darkest depths.

We all need to be told how much we’re loved and appreciated, and we all deserve to be happy. It’s funny, but as I was typing this, one of my best friends in the whole wide world sent me a text message out of the blue…

“I’m going to bed. I just wanted to say love you man. You’re my best friend. 🙂 Sleep well tonight.”

My response …

“I love you too. So much.”

 

I guess sometimes we get what we need. ❤

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