My thoughts have been very scattered these last few days. They’re going all over the place and I either haven’t been doing a good job of keeping them controlled, or I haven’t been trying.
Sometimes I get the urge to just start all over somewhere. I was driving to work this morning and remembered the time that Mom and Dad brought me to visit Lipscomb, and we stayed in Cathy Pool’s mom’s apartment (right?) which was off of Charlotte, near the pink elephant. I drive there every day now, and it almost feels like home. It used to feel more like home than it does now, though; Matt was my home. Wherever he was, I was home. We could have moved anywhere, and as long as he was there I would have been happy.
I still feel so disoriented and lost sometimes. Thank God I have people here tying me to Nashville – people who love me and enjoy my company (at least some of the time anyway). It’s so easy to focus on what I have lost rather than what I still have, though; what I lost feels so immense and overpowering though – when I dwell on it anyway.
It’s been over 4 months but it feels like FOREVER since February 20th, even though I still remember that evening well. Maybe I feel like – since 4 months seems like a year ago – I should be stabilizing. And I know I am. But there’s still so much instability, questioning, doubting, loneliness, insecurity, etc. I just want to fix it all. I wish I could take a test to rate how well I’m doing in recovering from all this. It’s not an easy thing for me to gauge. People tell me that they’re glad to see that I’m doing so well…but I don’t know what “doing well” means. I guess that “doing poorly” would mean staying in bed, never cleaning or being proactive, not seeing friends, etc. I’m keeping my house clean, I’m doing fine at work, I’m asking people to hang out with me. So I guess if that means that I’m doing fine, then I’m doing fine.
I just get overwhelmed still. I wonder if anyone will ever love me like Matt did. I’m getting used to living by myself but it’s still so unnatural and I feel Matt’s absence every day.
This is a long process, I know. I need to have realistic expectations for myself. And I need to be thankful for the people who have offered to help me along the way. I need to be patient. Four months is not all that long in the scheme of things, and it’s okay for me to still be struggling; in fact, if I wasn’t, it would probably mean that I was doing something wrong.
Oh, life.
No Promises This Time 