Losing a part of me

My weight is slowly dropping back to where it was before I flew to Texas (nearly a three weeks ago). It is astounding to me that in the last week since my world imploded I have not gone completely to pot. It would not have surprised me had my weight jumped fifteen pounds this past week after what happened last Saturday. While the bathroom scale still has me up 2.2 lbs. since then (my last pre-collapse weigh-in, also my last weigh-in before a completely depressed travel day), it could have been much worse. From that weigh-in I would gain 6.4 lbs. over a four-day period, but have been able to drop 4.2 lbs. these last three days.

I am slowly coming to terms with the reality of my world which has been completely destroyed. I do not know how things are going to play out, but I do not expect that I will be able to go back to the way things were. It is strange… a week ago I woke up happy and optimistic. I have not gone to bed nor woken up like that since. I have not had a good night sleep in that time. I do not expect I will have one for quite some time.

When I finish writing this entry I will leave the house for social reasons for the first time since I set foot inside late last Sunday night. I have gone shopping, I have walked my dog. Today I am going to see friends who might, I hope, be able to offer me some sort of comfort. Nobody knows what is going on with me yet. I suspect that had I told any of my friends, they would have been banging on my door immediately and all week. With my ridiculous work schedule this past week (and the next one as well) that just would not do, as I need to maintain both my work schedule and my composure during the day. I cannot let my students know that I do not care about living, let alone computers. I have put on a very brave face and I know that they are learning and enjoying the classes – the results of the mid-course exams yesterday bear that out. The fact that I am dead inside is masked from the world.

I got the most touching communication yesterday. I truly have no idea who reads this blog; in truth, there are times when I think that nobody reads it. When a reader reached out and told me that she reads my blog every day and that she hopes I am okay, it was more than heartwarming. It is entirely possible she is the reason I did not dive into a bottle of scotch last night… and chase it down with a large platter of deep-fried chicken wings with extra sauce. I am not sure that I would have physically harmed myself, although that thought has certainly crossed my mind. Diving off the addiction wagon would not have killed me, but it would certainly have started a long and slow road back to where I was two years ago.

Maybe Paul Simon was right. A rock feels no pain, and an island never cries. Maybe the best course of action to never feel this again would be to completely cut myself off from the world. Friends and lovers have hurt me more than any enemy combattant ever could. Maybe that is the answer.

For most of the last 660 days I have ended my journal entry with a positive wish to my readers to have a great day. I am sorry that right now I do not have it in me to feel anything positive.