I’ve decided to start posting to this blog again. I had hoped in November that I was ready to start my life over. I was feeling pretty good and had a new interest–screenwriting. I was busy with my clubs and even had a little paid work once in a while.
In March, almost 18 months to the day after Hal died, I suddenly decided that I needed to move. I set about getting the house ready to show, and a large part of that was paring down my belongings. Hal collected everything from soccer balls to Christmas ornaments; most of it had to go.
I took photos of his trophies and plaques, and kept a few things in the blanket chest and in a set of decorative trunks that I bought for the purpose of storing memorabilia. Most of it was sold or given away, and the rest went to the landfill. I included my own trophies and plaques, keeping only my gold medal, won in 2000 at the AAU national championship.
I painted, cleaned, rearranged. I sold my large appliances and a good deal of my furniture. I gave away two bookshelves of books. By June I had pared my life down from 1700 square feet to 700 square. I moved into a small luxury apartment in Hampton at the end of May.
By the end of June, I was in the midst of a crushing depression. The move was only part of the problem. For the last two years, I had a good friend, Cindy, who I could count on for assistance, sympathy and advice. I could not have survived Hal’s death without her. At the end of April, she had a heart attack, and after a 10-day vigil, her husband finally acknowledged that there was no hope of recovery and allowed her to die.
Coping with Cindy’s death on top of my move very nearly pushed me over the edge. I looked around my new apartment and felt utterly alone in the world. Had I moved forward in getting my life together or had I just changed my address? Could I find work, support myself, find someone to love who loves me back? It didn’t seem so.
I considered simply calculating out how long my money would last and choosing a day for my death. I thought that I might have two years to wrap up the details of my life so my family wouldn’t have too much trouble packing my belongings, filing my last tax return, notifying my creditors of my death. Perhaps, I thought, I could somehow enjoy the next two years if I knew that I didn’t have to try to survive beyond them.
I’m better now. Anti-depressants are wonderful things.
There will be more coming on this blog.