Failure

I realized that when it comes to Blake's overdose, in some ways I feel like a failure.

This morning in my counseling class, we learned about Motivational Interviewing. This is a type of therapy used with addicts to change their drug use. As my classmates started asking questions about what to say and how to get the client to make positive changes, my heart sank. Although I know I never got the chance to have these conversations about addiction with Blake because he didn't let me, I still began to feel like I failed him.

I quietly cried in class, looking down while covering my face with my hand. I could have gotten away with hiding my tears if it wasn't for the betrayal of my nose. It sniffled and leaked and uncontrollably drew attention to me. I tried to silence it, but every time I wiped it, it surged back with vengeance. I felt the hot stares of my classmates, but didn't dare to look up. I didn't need to see their faces to validate the pity being sent in my direction. Instead, I got trapped in my head and sat inside myself as the lesson droned on. With every word from the professor's mouth I slipped further into my cave of inadequacy.

The difficult thing about guilt is that it can defy logic. I can logically know that Blake's death is not my fault and that there wasn't anything I did wrong, but the weight of failure still crushes me sometimes. Not all the time, but when it does I get completely flattened by it. I spiral deeper into my head posing what ifs. What if I asked better questions? What if I showed I cared more? What if I made it clearer that I'd always love him? Never judge him? Never leave? What if? What if?

What if I make the decision to forgive myself? What if I recognize that even if there were things I could've done differently, so what? Am I going to I punish myself for the rest of my life for that? Call myself a failure for all of the hypothetical things I didn't do?

We're talking about Motivational Interviewing in class. This means that I have the opportunity to learn how to work with people and help them make changes in their lives. Instead of using this as a means to criticize myself for not doing this in the past, I could be focusing on how I can utilize this strategy in the future.

I acknowledge that even though I fail sometimes, I am not a failure. The things I didn't do or could've done are insignificant in comparison to what I can do now. And what I can do now is infinite.

Not Ready to Move On

Back in April, Blake and I attended the wedding of one of my best friends from high school. Last night, as she and her husband were watching the reception video, she noticed that the videographer caught some moments of Blake and me dancing together. She recorded these shots with her phone and sent them to me in a text.

Today, I uploaded the clips to my computer so I could watch them again. The first moment I paused at was when Blake and I locked eyes. The way I looked at him can't be described as anything other than pure love. I know in that moment I was looking into his eyes thinking about how incredibly lucky I was to be dancing with him.

The second time I paused was at the point when I nestled into his shoulder and his hand came up to hold the back of my head. I started thinking about how good it must have felt to be held so lovingly like that. I wished with my whole heart that I could remember exactly what that felt like. As I replayed these clips, I began to wonder if I'd ever feel that in love, safe, and comfortable with anyone else ever again.

I closed my laptop and started wailing. My eyes filled so completely with tears that I couldn't see anymore. My mouth audibly struggled to take in air while it released moans of discomfort. Each hand grasped the opposite shoulder trying to hold onto myself as tight as possible. I ended up rocking back and forth, shaking and squeezing harder. I tucked my head into the crevice of my crossed arms as I continued to cry. At least all balled up like that my shrieks were muffled. I hoped that my neighbors were out like normal people enjoying their Saturday night. I hoped no one had to suffer through hearing such a soul shattering sound.

As this response subsided and I started to regain my composure, I was caught off guard by the intensity of my reaction. I had watched those clips earlier today and smiled with a quick, happy well of tears in my eyes. Why did re-watching them this time lead to a breakdown?

I tried to answer this question by thinking about the moments I chose to pause for and figuring out how they made me feel. In the first one I looked at Blake in a way that I can't imagine looking at anyone else. In the second, I was held in a way that makes me nauseous just thinking about anyone besides Blake holding me. After analyzing that, I think the reason I started freaking out was because I am realizing that I may not want to be with anyone else for a really long time.

I know that no one means to put pressure on me, but every once in a while people say insensitive things that make me feel awful about my "progress." It may be as harmless as saying, "When you're in your next relationship..." or as overt as, "I know a guy that I want you to meet. I think you'd really like him." I understand these people are only trying to help, but is it that awful that I'm still in love with Blake? That the thought of another man's interest or touch feels akin to a brutal attack? That I'd rather be alone than even entertain the idea of letting another man into my life?

Today marks four months since Blake passed away. For me, four months might as well be yesterday. In my heart Blake is still my boyfriend. I wish that wasn't considered weird or sad or pathetic by people who have no way of understanding what this feels like. I guess I just have to let them judge me. All I can do is have confidence that I'm doing what I need to be doing at a pace that feels right to me.

Why is Love Not Enough?

I just had a breakdown.

When this happens, something inside my stomach starts to tighten. Although I can't put my finger on exactly what's going on inside of me, I just don't feel "right." I could pretty easily brush it off at this beginning stage by telling myself it's nothing, I'm fine. But if I give these internal signals any thought, I know I'm not ok. I need time. I need to retreat from whatever normal people activity I'm doing.

I've been in Tahoe with some of my friends since Friday night. It's been really nice to be somewhere beautiful, try things I've never done before, and dress up to go out at night. A month ago I would've never been able to do a weekend trip like this. At that point it was even difficult for me to go out to a bar. Now I'm here, meeting new people, and actually enjoying myself.

But this morning I woke up and my body felt heavy in a way that isn't typical of a normal hangover. I felt completely weighed down. My affect was flat. Nothing about our plans for today sounded remotely compelling enough to get me out of bed. There was an anxious knot in my stomach that I attributed to the massive amount of homework I have due. I told the girls I needed to stay in to read, they understood, and left for the day's adventure without me.

I began to read, but ended up starting the same sentence about four times. My eyes were looking at the words, but there was a disconnect between the letters and my brain. I tried reading aloud, hoping that in verbal form they might sink in better. Nope. I squinted my eyes to fixate harder on the book. I furrowed my brow for increased concentration. My whole body got tense. Every fiber of my being wanted to read so badly to the point that I'd been forgetting to breathe. 

I finally filled my lungs with a much needed gasp of oxygen. As I exhaled, a flood of tears bursted from my eyes. I started breathing shallow and painful breaths as the tears kept streaming down my face. Why Blake? Why me? Why can't I be normal?

Although it's too late, and nothing will change the fact that Blake is gone, I still wish with all of my heart that my love for him was enough. Why is love not enough? I know we were meant to re-meet each other and fall deeply in love. He came back into my life when he did because I was meant for him and he was meant for me. I feel in a lot of ways that his love saved me and will continue to save me. But why couldn't my love save him? Why couldn't I make the same impact on him as he did on me?

These are the thoughts weighing me down right now. Although my breathing has returned to normal and the tears are now just streaks on my blotchy cheeks, I'm not ok. But that's ok. 

I clearly need a break from the world today and this breakdown is just my body's way of reminding me of that. I have been trying so hard to live my life and I know I'm doing a great job. But moving forward doesn't mean I have to deny myself a daily pause to check in with how I'm feeling. When I go days without writing or talking about Blake, my heart gets backed up, weighed down, and eventually screams at me to pay attention to it.