Letting Go

 Dear Will --

I had the realization this morning that the reason I've been so locked into grief is that it's the only relationship I have with you, especially now that your ghost is gone.

This is the first morning I've cried since Thursday when I had my first ketamine treatment.  I was so happy after the treatment.  The drug was powerful and helped me tune into my deep self again, a self that knew how to survive and thrive even with the interior despair and self hate.  A self that managed that despair through magical thinking, humor, and sex.

Sweetheart, I need to tell the Will inside me to set my own will free. Already, the great rock of grief in my chest has been withdrawn. I feel like I can function again, can do things.  So even though I am crying this morning, I know I am becoming free. Not free of my love for you which is for as long as I live, but free from the interior command to bury my mind beside you in the cold, cold ground.

There are people who love and support me, even though I still put two spaces after a period.  If I ever want sex again, there's ample opportunity to connect through the interwebs, if I want to, even for an old unicorn like myself. I have access to more distracting entertainment than ever dreamed of in my one tv station days.  And I still have a relatively good mind, even though my memory sucks (as it has since 6th grade when I couldn't remember the names of all my classmates and had to read their names off the back of a clay skull when I was the announcer for our 6th grade version of A Cask of Amontillado).  I have enough money to support my end life in-care if I get dementia (unless I am diagnosed with Alz or LB dementia, in which case I'll off myself). My bones are still good, I don't have cancer, and I'm not in pain all the time like some of my friends. So, my life is good.

The anniversary of your death is approaching slowly.  I will create a ritual for Boxing Day and then end this blog on that day.  

Or not.  We'll see.