It's been nearly eight months since Bob died, and I'm still learning how to cope. I'm still learning how my body forces me to cope whether I want to do it that way or not. I'm learning that if I surround myself with people who need too much from me, I end up depressed.
I didn't pick up on it at first. It wasn't obvious, because it doesn't happen right away, and it doesn't happen with people with whom I share a symbiotic relationship. It doesn't happen with my children, although we have more symbiotic relationships the older they get.
But, it can easily happen with other adults, and when it does, I find myself shutting down. My energy is drained. My affect becomes flat. I lose myself, because I'm still in a stage of grief where I can barely sustain myself, much less another person, for an extended period of time.
It also makes it difficult for me to communicate my feelings. I'm so much better with the written word than verbal interactions when I'm depressed. I can't speak with any clarity when my mind isn't on my side. I can't form the sentences I need in time to keep up with a conversation.
So, I write. I blog. And I hope that people read and understand that it's me, not them. I'm still broken. I need more time. I need more space to grieve.