It was just like this before
It is the wee hours of September 6th. I am 28 years old. There has been much to be happy about recently. Our wedding. Being in Barbados. Being back home and having the lower level completed. My birthday.
But Rob’s grandma passed away last week. And again, just like when my grandmother died, I am confronted with death.
Death and I don’t get along very well. One might say it scares the living shit out of me, full pun intended. Aside from grieving the loss of Mary Melito, there is something else pulling at the corners of my mind. Making every second of every day tainted with a morbid hue. It’s as if all of the enjoyment there was in my life has been desaturated, leaving only a faint trace of the feeling that any endeavor is worth the effort.
I do not want to feel this way after having just been married. Rob is worried about me, I can tell, and he’s constantly asking me if I’m alright. But what can I tell him? He knows I’m scared of death, I’ve told him so myself, and he’s seen the fringes of my death-related anxiety. He never wants to talk about it because he claims that the thought frightens him as well. I find it hard to believe that anything frightens my husband. But not impossible to believe.
It’s not actually just like it was before. I have a lot more in my life now. I have a husband, I have a house, a chinchilla, I’m going to school to try and get a better job, and I’m trying to seriously figure out what to do with my life. This is exponentially harder when you don’t see the use in anything.
One of Rob’s friends is engaged to a person who is possibly the only clinically depressed person I’ve known. I spoke with her at some length the other day, and while much of what she was saying far overshadowed anything I’ve ever felt, some aspects of what she told me rang true. I’m probably depressed.