It has been almost three weeks since I have gone to work. After keeping busy this whole time my brain can’t do anything else except be right here. I haven’t cooked a meal for myself. I can sometimes make myself leave the house for Taco Bell or a burger. I’ve tried to crochet the same row in a blanket four times so far. My dog needs a bath. I’m going to therapy every week. I’m crying most days.

My fiancée, Tabbie, has achieved alot at her job and has been a rock solid foundation while I try to talk myself into walking my dog.

Every time something good happens the grief hits. What I thought would always be my closest relationship is now gone and honestly never really existed. I made that relationship into whatever it needed to be to justify the things my mother did. The emptiness is somehow so heavy. My body has been racked by sobs and shakes during the panic attacks. My hands are so weak.

The first four days were even worse. All I wanted to do was get back into bed. It felt like the whole world had gone black except for my tiny realm of fuzzy grey foggy pain. Tabbie had to make our food, everything – I was barely shuffling around our home. Getting dressed and going to the pharmacy took hours of mental preparation. Everything is exhausting.

There was one good day when I woke up feeling okay. I took a shower and got dressed. I even put on makeup which isn’t a daily occurrence when I’m “okay” (I haven’t been okay in a long time.) I actually didn’t feel embarrassed about how I looked when I left the house. I was able to go to Aldi’s and buy snacks, bag them up and get them home. That was my big day.

This past Saturday I tried to go to a crafting social group and had to leave when an older woman told me that if I was determined enough I could own my own home. That if I was smart I could invest and “make money while I sleep.” I’m 38 and on the verge of losing my job.

Maybe I’m the world’s biggest bitch but I just can’t listen to that shit. I don’t know how or why anyone would sit there and not respond that that’s the most out of touch thing they’ve heard someone say in person in a while. Hearing someone be so cold and unsympathetic towards the poor or struggling isn’t my idea of a good time. I tried to respond constructively but then what always happens happened.

I can’t formulate a sentence but feel I have to speak without ceasing. My head bows and my eyes lower and I become unable to figure out what is next. It feels like I have two choices: anger and direct confrontation or to leave immediately.

Or as it’s clinically known a panic attack with a flight or fight response.

I feel like a crazy person incapable of anything except what I’m doing right now – slowly typing and reflecting on my recent past. That brings tears to my eyes.

The complete swallowing of this grief.

Realizing I have never been safe and that I am lucky to have survived physically at all. Now I am unsure if I have survived mentally. I don’t know what has survived mentally.

What is left with me on the other side of this slab I have slammed shut between me and the monster? Only me? I’m not sure. Are there others? Will they drag my body back out into the sun? Prop it up in a chair and put a plate in front of it. Let it live in a house? I hope so.