When Cory was depressed, she listened to sad music. I asked her therapist once if it wouldn't be better for Cory to listen to something more upbeat...if you were sad and listened to melancholy music, wouldn't it just make you feel worse? Her therapist said it most likely would, and encouraged Cory to add a few happy tunes to her playlist.
Back then, I tried to figure out why Cory would choose such depressing music. I just didn't quite get it. Now, I know that listening to music that reminds me of Cory is sad all the way around- it was usually sad material to begin with, it makes me sad because it reminds me of our times together, and it's a bitter pill to swallow to know those times are over for good.
However,
there is comfort in those sad songs. The words and the notes seem to pour right out of my heart. There is solace in knowing someone somewhere has been as miserable as I feel this moment.
That being said, they're not particularly motivating. I usually try to mold myself to the warmest part of my bed, and hunker down, sheets and blankets held against the light and the images that barge in and out of my mind without knocking. I tried to talk to Tim about the flashbacks the other night, but he held up one hand and grimaced. Her legs were dirty. I remember that, and it bothered me so much. I wanted those people at the scene to let me through so I could touch her, help her up, clean her off, something...anything.
I decided this morning that I have to do something different. Last night, I felt so desolate, so hopeless, that if I'd been alone, I think I really would have done something without caring about the consequences for those around me.
I have my art journal, and this blog- they have both helped me process what has happened, and will continue to do so. This shit apparently never ends. Writing and mark making has helped me express some very socially unacceptable feelings in a safe way. They have also helped me figure out what questions to ask myself, and how to accept the answers. The only problem is every day looks just like the last- it is a black parade of misery, with no apparent end in sight. It is overwhelming enough to begin with, but add just one little stressor to your pile, and suddenly, not only do you doubt your ability to tote that mess, you decide maybe running away from it would be a way smarter move. Taking flight with a handful or two of meds suddenly doesn't seem all that crazy. It begins to hold a pain relieving instant gratification easy money scratch off sort of solution to this whole fucking disaster.
But who would get the built up shampoo off Jacob's head?
So, I am starting yet another project...another "Project Life", if you will. I am going to concentrate on giving myself two of the things that my highest risk children in preschool need daily- consistent routine and pictures.
You might think I already have a routine. And I suppose technically speaking, I do. It is however, much more chaotic than in past years. The Mansfield household is still in that shell-shocked state of survival. There are many "oh, crap, we don't have any clean towels left" and "Oh, crap, we're out of milk" and "Oh, crap, I forgot to pay that bill."
Things could be better in the planning department. One thing I know for certain is that predictability creates a feeling of safety. I need to feel safe. And most of the time, I don't. Post- traumatic stress? Maybe. My already existing anxiety worse after Cory's death? Definitely! Whatever the reasons, I have trouble functioning, and I worry, a lot. About everything. All the time.
This leads to the second part of my project: pictures. Whenever there is chaos in a classroom of three and four year olds, I am a firm advocate of providing visual cues. Children think in pictures. Show children what you want them to do in picture form, consistently, and they will do it. They will surprise you with how well they follow directions, anticipate changes, and handle transitions. Well, I'm not so hot on any of those things right now. And especially, I'm not good at thinking positively. My outlook on life right now is less than encouraging.
So, I'm going to get myself a planner. I'm going to try to break down my daily tasks into smaller steps that are less overwhelming. I'm going to fill the stupid thing (see that negative outlook?) with things that bring me the slightest joy. Last night, I told Tim I hated everything. He told me, "No, you don't. You don't hate Jake. You don't hate the cats. You don't hate Gizmo. You don't hate....well, maybe you do hate me half the time, I really don't know."
Okay, fair enough. I'm going to plaster this planner with pictures of things I love. I'm going to add silly stickers like a fourth grader, maybe some paint, definitely glitter. They may even need to be some ribbon involved. There will definitely be the color yellow.
I'm going to make myself honor a ritual I used to do with my children every night at dinner. I used to ask them each their high and low for the day- what was the best thing that happened today, and what was the worst? They loved this game, and often I was able to show Cory who struggled with depression that at least one good thing happened every day, and that made it worth holding out a little bit longer.
I need to have things to look forward to. I need to acknowledge the good things that happen, however small they may be. (i.e. The new Muppet movie comes out this weekend. I do love me some Muppets).
I will still work out my darker feelings. I will never give up my art journal. What I'm wondering is this...if I make a space for just my grief alone, that I can leave in my studio each morning, will my load be any lighter during the day? If I make more room for happiness, will it come to pass?
This is an experiment in compartmentalizing. Stay tuned.
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