Therapy

This has been another rough week. I am a mess. I cried all week no matter what I was doing. Making breakfast, taking the children to school, brushing my teeth - it didn’t matter. Salty tears marked my face and no amount of make-up could hide my grief. I seriously challenged my waterproof mascara and it lost.

I have not been getting enough sleep and wake up not ready to face anything. My children are not happy and I realize it is mostly my fault. If I am stressed and cranky they are doubly so. I am my own worst enemy this week and it sucks. It is very hard to reel your emotions in when dealing with small children. I tried not to lose my temper and let my stress and sadness get the better of me. It is hard to be everything to everyone and still maintain some semblance of yourself.

Wednesday morning was the worst. I cried and cried out of frustration, anger and annoyance with myself. I am just stressed and sometimes even the simplest things seem so impossible these days.

Driving home from New Jersey to start the second half of my crazy day, I remembered that group therapy started tonight. I really did not want to go. No really. But it only meets once a month and I didn’t think I could take another month just on my own. Not if the days are going to be like today. I really wanted to wait till February – but I realized I owe it to my children and myself to take a different route than the one I am currently on. I called one of my friends who was more than willing to come over and put my children to bed.

I left the house with enormous knots in my stomach. I was worried about the children being without me at bedtime. I was worried about so many things. I tried not to think about where I was going. I was so nervous; I really thought I was going to throw up on the subway. Walking in Manhattan was upsetting to me. At 6:30 p.m. everyone is going to dinner or meeting for drinks. Everyone but me. I kept thinking that none of these people are going to a strange room to talk about their dead husband. Just me.

I didn’t want to go, but I went. I wanted to walk into a bar and do shots. I wanted to do anything but where I was headed. I pushed myself and walked in. I almost walked out. I didn’t. I learned that the rules of therapy are like Vegas. What is said in therapy stays in therapy. I very much respect these rules, so I will just talk about me.

This group is only for people who have lost loved ones to suicide. Some have lost close relatives, some spouses and some lost children. As we went around the room saying our names and who we lost, I was already crying. I said my name, that I lost my husband 11 weeks ago and that I cry a lot. That was all I said for a long time. I just listened to everyone else. It was almost as painful to listen than it was to speak. It was very difficult listening to the parents who lost children to suicide. I have decided that is the worst thing ever. Losing a spouse is awful of course, but a child, there are just no words.

I didn't expect to be so unnerved by everyone else’s stories. I think I was so consumed by my own grief and anxiety, that I never even thought about what brought other people to the room that night. I just never once thought about anyone but me. This small room full of sorrow and despair put me in my place. I am not the only one.

It was awkward and awful listening to other people’s pain. The words and feelings pouring from the group scared me. Everything they all said I have thought and written about as well. It is oddly comforting to know that I am not crazy or depressed. That every emotion I feel is being shared collectively in this room. Just to hear another person say out loud my worst fears and my guilt and anguish makes it seem more real but possibly more manageable. I never expected to feel connected to a complete group of strangers – it was very awful and very nice.

The moderator was very helpful. I didn’t talk for a while as I didn’t know what to say or where to begin. After a while he started asking me questions. Then others started asking me things. It was easier to talk when I had a direction. Then of course I would just cry.

Sitting there listening and talking may have been one of the most difficult things I have ever done. It was almost harder to hear other people talk about their pain and misery. I have been living with these feeling for almost three months now and I am saddened that other people feel like me. It is just unbelievably painful.

They all said it doesn't get any easier and this bothers me. I think it would have been nice to hear something positive. I don’t know what I was expecting as it is a freaking suicide group. I guess I can’t expect miracles right away.

I left quickly, totally exhausted and anxious to get some fresh air and home to my children. I didn’t look at strangers on the street and think how no one else feels my pain or is grieving like me. I didn’t feel sorry for myself at all. I felt more connected to the world than I have in a long time. I have seen the faces of others who deal with their pain day by day. I don’t feel so alone.

I am just truly thankful this group is only once a month.