Like going home

So the problem is being alone. Maybe "problem" isn't the right word.
The pain is loud, sharp, blinding and heavy when i'm alone.
In the past few weeks i've experienced enjoyable times with my aunts, my friends, my coworkers. I'm laughing, engaged, responding, empathizing, caring, and feeling alive.
Then i say goodbye and i walk off by myself and every single object in my sight makes me aware of my mom's absence and i can go in one of two directions:
1) remember being an asshole to my mom and regret not being able to do today what i didn't do then
2) remember something fun or sweet or happy about my mom that makes me furious and heartbroken that she has to be gone.

On Friday night i was riding the bus on Broadway back home from Jes' apartment and i found myself having the strangest mental conversation with the streets. All of Broadway is dressed up in holiday lights and there are Christmas tree stands about every 4 blocks (so it seems). I stared at those decorations and multicolored lights and thought, "who said you're allowed to be there? My mom's not here, you're not allowed to be decorations." I passed the tree stands and thought, "what right do you have to be there? My mom loved wreaths, she loved these tree stands, those are supposed to be for her. She's not here and neither should you be."
Everything about Christmas and winter in NY that i love, or thought i loved, doesn't make sense knowing that my mother is not here. There's a part of me that really doesn't understand why the holiday season is here. How can it exist without my mother? How is that possibly fair at all, in any world in the universe, at any point in time?

So unfair, so unfair. That's how i feel outside. I told Fran on Tuesday that i think about when we started our group on May 6 this year. She was where i am now. Around 8 months. And it is getting harder. It's by no means getting easier. I don't cry maybe as much as i did in the very beginning, but i've really had more of the waves that i read about with grief. I've got it together, i can do this, i can go on. I can't handle this, there is no point to life, this pain is going to kill me. It's like a clock, going around and around. I have faith that i will survive and thrive because other people do. I just don't have any plans.

Dr. Hirsh gave me a lightbox which i hope helps me. I've only used it once so far. I took it to work but it was too bright and too disturbing for my work environment, so i brought it back home.
After my session 2 Wednesdays ago, i walked from 9th street to 42nd street, in the light rain, with my hood up and my scarf up under my eyes and i cried the whole way. It was great. I mean, i didn't feel great, but to be able to cry in the rain at night, out in the open air, that felt like such a release. It's not the first time i've cried in the rain. It might be one of my favorite things to be able to do.
I spent almost all of last weekend with my aunts and it was really great. I enjoyed it but i was also keenly aware of the fact that being with them didn't equal to being with my mom and that's what i wanted to replicate. I still love being with them, hanging out at Macy's, talking about my mom. But whenever i say goodbye and head home i feel a tremendous emptiness. It's like filling the void temporarily works but then when it's emptied again it's even a deeper, more painful void.

Being alone in the apartment is getting sadder. Coming home is sadder. Once i'm here i just keep the radio on and play dvds so that i'm not stuck in silence.

On Tuesday i met with Fran and Alison and as i was walking toward the Moonstruck diner, i thought to myself, it's like i'm going home. Going to a Fight Club night is an instant comfort. It's knowing i'm going somewhere where people care and i care and i can tell the truth about my feelings and they'll get it and i'll get it when they tell me. That feeling of sharing thoughts and feelings and connecting in a way you don't connect ANYWHERE else is...like going home.