The infernal internal dialogue

Last week, I had what I call my first ‘non-sighting’ of B. I was half-expecting that something like this would happen at some point and, lo and behold, I was coming out of a choir practise and for a split second I thought I saw B – there he was with his slightly wavy, white hair, in his fawn jumper, slightly turned away from me. I was just about to go over to him so that we could go home together (although him being at choir practise was an illogicality) when I realised that, of course, it couldn’t be him. I had thought that something like this would upset me but, although it was a bit of a shock, somehow it was actually a comfort as, for a moment, it reminded me of the physical him…

I have just come back from spending some time with my family. While I was with them, I felt a bit more like my old self. It felt as though I was back on an even keel again, which is somewhat of a relief. I wondered why it seems so much easier with them than at home, and realised that there are several factors at play: I was with other people so I had company; there was more to distract me and so less time to think about things; I could bring B in to conversations, which is always positive; I was not at home where B’s absence is more obvious; I didn’t have to think of activities to occupy myself (I have plenty to do at home, but my motivation is lower since B’s death). Now I’m home, I’m hoping that this renewed state of mind will remain. Time will tell…

Recently, the thought of holidays has been bugging me; what I could do and cope with? Before I went away, I was with some friends who were talking about their holidays. I wanted to hear about them, but my internal dialogue was going something like this (and this is about me and no criticism of them): ‘This talk about holidays is making me feel miserable, but why shouldn’t you talk about your holidays? Ordinarily, I would want to hear about them, but it just reminds me that I can no longer go away with B. How can I go on holiday without him? Where could I go, what could I do that wouldn’t be painful? I could go to the Lake District, but would that just be too painful, reminding me of all the happy times we spent there together? I could go somewhere that I don’t know, but then that would be harder to navigate on my own. Perhaps, I could join a tour, go abroad somewhere, but then I’d have to be sociable and it’s exhausting being with people I don’t know all of the time. Perhaps, I could go somewhere on my own, but what would that be like, just reminding me of that massive hole in my life without you. You can’t think like this, you need to be positive. I’ve moved forward, it’s positive that I’m thinking about holidays, but what new hell is this? Is this my grief or am I just feeling sorry for myself? Lots of single people go on holiday all of the time. Is this more about me feeling sorry for myself than missing B? What’s the difference anyway? I need to shake myself out of this, but I can’t re-write my history and it’s your massive absence that creates this dilemma, so I guess it’s all part of my grief. But, just like the rest of it, I don’t like it! Perhaps, I’ll forget holidays for a while… No, that’s giving in, just don’t think about them on a hard day…’. Anyway, being with my sister helped and we have booked a few nights away a bit later in the year, to somewhere that both B and I, and the three of us, have been to before. I am looking forward to it and hopefully I won’t be hijacked by too many memories (I don’t mind the memories if they make me happy, it’s just that they still have a tendency to have the opposite effect). So, it’s a positive step. I am also going to stay with friends in the not too distant future, so that is also something to look forward to. These may not remove the whole issue, but at least it’s a start.

I’ve noticed, though, that my internal dialogues, The Jester, tend to be negative rather than positive – perhaps B was right about my glass being half-empty… These internal conversations happen both when I am alone and when I am with others. They can depend on how I am feeling or who I am talking with or what the topic of conversation is, but usually it makes me feel worse rather than better. On good days I don’t really notice it, but when I’m having a bad day it can go something like this:

Me when I’m on my own, e.g. when a random thought pops into my head, or a piece of music plays on the radio:

Oh no, don’t start crying again, it’s only a song. B*gger, stop it, you stupid woman, pull yourself together. What are you doing? I thought you were having a good day. I was until this happened. When is all this going to be over? This is normal, you shouldn’t shut it out. You have to let yourself grieve. But what if I am just feeling sorry for myself. Should I be trying to distract myself? You have to face your grief, but is this what I’m feeling? Perhaps I’m just feeling sorry for myself and I don’t want to fall into that trap. Is this normal? Who knows what normal is anymore? Oh, for goodness sake, B wouldn’t want to see you like this. Well, he’s not here, and if he was I wouldn’t be feeling like this…

Me trying to be honest with someone who is empathetic:

The other person: Hi, good to see you. How are you?
Me: Good to see you too. I’ve found it hard since the anniversary of B’s death, but I’m okay. How can I explain to you just how hard it is? Would you want to know, anyway? I don’t want to be the miserable person bringing everybody else down, but how could you possibly understand what it’s like unless you’ve been through it? I wouldn’t want you to - I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Okay, it’s easier than it was, but it’s still hard. How can I tell you how I feel when, half the time, I don’t even know myself? I’m up and down like a yo-yo. Yes, it’s over a year but I still miss B so much. Am I just trying to reassure myself, though? You’re (just) grieving, this is normal. I wonder what you (the person I’m talking with) are really thinking – do you think I should be over it by now? Perhaps I should be? How can I be? B’s loss still affects so much of my life. You can’t possibly imagine just how much I still miss him. I know he would tell me to get on with my life and be happy again, but how can I without him? I’m trying my best, it’s only a year, why does it have to be like this, but I wouldn’t want to not miss him, what would that say about what we had…

Me with someone who cares, but lacks empathy:

The other person: Hi, okay?
Me: Yes, I’m fine thanks (and I move swiftly on). What’s okay? Perhaps I am okay for where I am in the grieving process, but I don’t know if I feel okay. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. It might be a year since B died, but that’s nothing compared to all the time we had together. So, I’m not going to even try to answer honestly, as I know you won’t know how to respond if I tell you the truth and it will just embarrass you, and make me feel bad. Do you know what ‘fine’ stands for? ‘F*cked inside, not explaining’... The way you ask just tells me that you don’t understand, though I know you mean well, but I haven’t got the emotional energy so I’m going to protect myself…

Me with a fellow choir member:

The other person: Did you belong to another choir before this one?
Me: Well, a long time ago, but not recently. I decided it would be something that I would enjoy, as well as giving me a challenge. Should I be honest and tell you that I’ve joined because I need new things to do, to give me some purpose in my life since my husband died last year? How would you react if I told you? I don’t want to make it awkward for you. No, I’ll let you take me at face value, it’s easier that way, even though I’m not actually that person. Maybe, if I get to know you a little better… I'd like to tell you that I'm worried about performing in this piece. Will I find it too emotive when the soloists are singing? And, how will it be being in the Royal Festival Hall again, where B and I went so often, especially in the early days, so many memories. What if I cry? Pull yourself together, you're going to do this and you're going to enjoy it. I hope it’s going to be okay…

What I’m also realising is that initially, after B died, I couldn’t hide my feelings even if I had wanted to. It was too hard. Now, I’m somewhat reverting to type and am starting to want to contain them again, but underneath it all I am still grieving. It is still hard. So, if I go silent, or get grumpy, or just disappear, it’s just that that infernal Jester is getting to me again, so please bear with me. Saying that, as I write all this, I am feeling more positive, so let’s just hope that I am resurfacing after the wobble precipitated by the anniversary of B’s death…