Since Ian killed himself, I’ve found it incredibly difficult to find joy in things. Things I used to revel seem hollow, barren, or flat. Things I relished seem trite and silly.
For a long time, I was pretty well convinced that his death had stolen any capacity I had for pleasure. Even the things I should have taken peace from, like family, good friends, my cat…. All those things seemed like burdens rather than blessings. I admit that sometimes they still do.
But I HAVE found joy again. I don’t remember the first real thing since his demise… But the last few make sense. I’ve found real happiness again in singing. In performing. In listening to good music. In loving my cat. In helping a friend. In planning on giving something to my mom.
For a while, I really was convinced that I was done, that I’d hit the peak, and nothing would ever be good again. Truthfully, 90% of the time, I’m still there. But now? Now there’s that 10%… The 10% that I feel the possibility. The love for this fickle silly cat…. The exhilaration of a good performance.
It’s there now, slowly working its way back into my world.
There’s a piece of me that feels like that’s a betrayal, and fights against it. But my head knows that it’s good. So far, my head’s winning the fight… And I’m slowly letting the good back in.
Nothing will stop me missing him. Nothing will alleviate that. But if I pursue the things that bring me joy on top of all that, I may have a chance at mitigating it. And that may make all the difference.
Written 1/14/2015
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