I’ve been at home for 3 days since my grandma’s funeral. The tears have dried up, and I spent yesterday working on cleaning up our back patio, and then we went to a movie last night, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I have to say I feel guilty for going back to my life and enjoying a movie so soon after I lost someone so important to me. If I really sit and obsess and brood about it, I could probably cry and cry some more, but I don’t want to cry anymore. I feel guilty because I feel relieved. Relieved that I don’t have to feel sad about her declining in the nursing home anymore. I’m relived that she’s no longer in pain, no longer confused and scared, trapped in a reality that grew more confusing by the day. That all the paperwork and worrying is over. I feel guilty for being glad it’s all over.
I tell myself I should feel proud for being so strong and that I got through this so well, in large part because I wasn’t drinking. But all I can hear is my dead mother’s voice in my head telling me how selfish I am. That I should be ashamed for going back to my life and moving on so soon. It’s such an odd impulse, to feel like I should self-flagellate because I feel too good for the circumstances. Isn’t this why I gave up drinking to begin with? To feel better?
I feel that familiar itch to throw myself into something challenging. Like really physically challenging, so I can feel something other than this confusing relief/guilt vortex swirling around in my brain. I want to turn warrior, to put on face paint and become primal. Sweating, pushing, feeling my lungs burning.
Today is day 686.