I gave up on writing daily. It’s the same thing. I am still a disaster. I can’t focus to write about the good memories, can barely do work, suck at sleeping, still have a long backlog of “so your spouse is dead” chores and accounts and paperwork.
I’m often frozen with tears and indecision and overwhelming anxiety and inability to do the simplest of tasks. I sit staring at nothing, wishing the Nothing was me.
I constantly fail at prioritizing.
It sucked seeing happy families celebrate Thanksgiving and I think I may have to institute a near-moratorium on social media to survive until January.
I hate everything and I’m constantly angry.
I think I’ve made one iota of progress in that I regularly accomplish SOMETHING every day even if it’s just one phone call, and I don’t have as much trouble falling asleep.
I just want to sleep for a decade until grief might finally let me breathe.