I inhabit a once-familiar environment. My connection to it seems weak, frayed, fragile.
A strong longing is inside me to reach out, grasp, connect, hang on to what remains, but it feels further and further away. Slipping through weakening fingers.
Ghosts in literature are sometimes said to be the spirits of the dead who don't know they are dead yet, and/or who have unfinished business with the world of the living.
That's kind of how I feel, like the world of the living is moving on without me. People are watching football games, TV shows, listening to their favorite band's new record, reading novels, going to the movies.
I haven't been able to watch a movie since N moved out. Nor have I read any fiction. I've read self-help books about grief, relationship loss, recovery from depression, but that's it. I've gone to see a few friends' bands play live.
One of the reasons people like fiction and sports is because it pulls our attention away from mundane life for awhile. We get caught up in these stories.
I feel so hypervigilant right now that I don't feel like I can let go enough to put my attention to a movie or a game. I feel like I have such a tenuous grasp on this world that if I immerse myself in a film or a book, I might lose my grip. I don't know what would happen if I lost my grip, but that is the fear.
I've done some things to try to connect socially, like Thanksgiving dinner, and Friday night I went to the studios over on Blanding that opened for Estuary Art Attack. I seem to be able to connect with others briefly, but when I get back home by myself, or everyone goes home, I plunge back into this isolated misery.
I know intellectually that states like the one I am in do not last forever, that chances are that I will eventually come back to life. But each day that I wake up feeling like this, I seriously wonder how much more I can take. It feels like my brain is being injured.