Every physical reminder I have of Christian fits into a box that sits on top of our piano. So sometimes I begin to wonder if I made the whole thing up. I was pregnant, right? Did this really happen? The world keeps going on, but it seems like I’m stuck dwelling on Christian’s death. Is that normal? Am I going crazy (again)? Should I have somehow gotten over it and moved on by now?
I feel suspended – unable to convince myself to be productive, or to be social, or to cope. Day after day passes by while I do nothing. I’ve had so many wasted days lately, and I certainly would rather be a normal person again but the motivation to even try just isn’t there. Instead I make occasional tiny efforts at keeping up with life, distract myself with books or painting or sleep or food (randomly, I have a newfound love of dry roasted peanuts and macadamia nuts), and keep . . . waiting. Waiting to feel better or just to feel willing to try feeling better.
I know: I ought to throw myself into something; once I start, I will feel a little bit better. Logic and depression just aren’t friends, though. I absolutely don’t want to do anything, except wait.