The Unbearable Year

One year ago today, March 12th, 2020, I woke up like any other day. My lady and I were up early for work. We drove the 10 miles into town. I dropped her off at her job and went into my work. The day was easy, ad changes. I sat down with several department managers at the grocery store I worked at and made adjustments to the ad flier and products according to their needs. The ad group puts the flier together for us. We tweak it to fit the store better.

It was a tiny hat I wore then and still do. My primary duty was overseeing the online shopping program. Thursdays, I had a helper that focused on fulfilling the orders while I did ad changes and a few other responsibilities. The day was like any other, though there were murmurings. People worried about the coronavirus, but it seemed distant and not a problem. Then around noon, the governor spoke, and all hell broke loose. Little did I know that March 12th, 2020, would begin what has been the worse year of my entire adult life.

I’ve had hardship and heartbreak before. Nothing that I couldn’t seem to handle. I’d lost cousins and nephews to tragedy growing up—my grandparents to old age and the health issues that come from that. My father passed away when I was 18, my mother in 2013 before Thanksgiving. I had a network of family and friends to lean on for support. I still do, but the pool of people and how close I am to them seem more distant than ever before.

Starting on that Thursday, my job became more stressful than I could handle. I was fortunate enough to have a team of people that I could rely on, but as the days turned into weeks and then into months, the amount of stress that I had become crippling. I fell into a deep depression, which hurt my relationship with my lady.

She and I always had a communication problem. If I’m honest, it was primarily me, I couldn’t communicate my feelings adequately, and I failed to listen and realize hers. She understood me mostly. I thought I understood her, but not enough.

We both fell into a routine as spring progressed. We went to work, then to home, then back again. Her schedule was onerous as she worked two morning shifts and then two grave shifts split by days off between them. I worked an entire week with a random day off and Sunday off. Already a homebody, I sank deeper into depression, and so did she.

We didn’t know how to help each other. I preferred solitude while she sought company. So as I sunk deeper into depression, I closed her off. Our relationship had some stark problems, and to be honest, a lot of those problems rooted directly in me. So as I closed myself off more and our social interactions faded because of the pandemic, she grew more into her online gaming community.

I fought for a way to bring myself out through the end of spring and early summer. I dabbled with music again, something I hadn’t done in some time. It helped for a short period. Boosting my esteem temporarily, but the day-to-day proved too much, and I sank again. I worked on the podcast I had been producing for the last five years, and once again, I could feel myself coming up, but exhaustion from work overcame me. I even tried running an online D&D campaign as all the real-world games my lady and I were in had died. After three sessions, it fizzled. We tried another online TTRPG run by another friend. We made it about five sessions before his life and schedule became too much.

Soon I would spend my free time playing video games, and watching Netflix, alone. My lady would spend her time playing games like Monster Hunter online or watching streaming services. All the things we would have done vanished. The TTRPGs, the yard sale trips, the tentative day trips for sushi, or to take the dogs to find a lake. Gone. I’d want to think if things hadn’t turned to shit, we would have done those things. We would have done some of those things.

At the end of summer, I discovered I could write copy and blogs for money. Not a lot, but enough to cover me stepping down from taking care of the online shopping program and just working part-time. The job's stress had become unbearable, and I found myself drinking nightly and going home with chest pains due to anxiety.

I decided and talked to my boss and my lady about stepping down. She was bringing in more than enough to cover the gaps that would leave in the household budget. However, we wouldn’t be able to afford things we might need otherwise. The writing was slow at first. It still is, though I’m making several hundred dollars a month now.

Then on August first, a few days after I had announced the decision to step down, my eldest sister died. She had myriad health problems, the least of which was obesity and a lifelong smoking habit. Her death was a blow and shocking. However, after a couple of weeks, I felt motivated. I felt like I could change my life for the better. I was inspired to do better, so I could live a fuller life. I wrote up a series of rules for myself to help me mentally and physically.

Then I lost my beloved dog a few shorts days after writing the rules. I still grieved for my sister, though her death motivated me. Losing my sweet little Shadette was more than I could bear. I obsessively searched for her for months. I think that one of two things happened: she was picked up on the road near my property and stolen, or she overheated and laid down beneath a bush we haven’t found and perished.

That wasn’t the final blow. On Halloween, though I didn’t find out until the next day, my aunt passed away. Though we weren’t close, it was still a bitter pill. She was a strong, ferocious woman who gave my uncle years of loyal companionship. Her death and funeral came right after my lady, and I finished the annual corn-maze haunt.

One of the few things my lady and I did, and we had done every year for the past three years, was work at a haunted corn maze. She worked one of the mechanical scares while I checked tickets at the entrance, explained the rules, and warmed people up for going inside the maze. It was something we both enjoyed, and though I was still deeply depressed, and I had genuine concerns about Covid-19. My lady and I ventured forth and did it. It was hard on her because she worked her graveyard shifts the two of the nights each week, making the entire ordeal exhausting.

November wore on with our anniversary, my Aunt’s funeral, the end of the haunt holiday meal (which I begrudgingly went to) at the beginning of the month. I hurt my knee to the point I should have probably gone to the doctor a week before Thanksgiving, and it pushed me further down. I missed work, earning extra money to buy Christmas presents, paying a little extra on bills, and potentially planning a trip somewhere for my birthday.

Thanksgiving, something I barely celebrated, was more muted. My lady had to work, and while I tried to convey that there was no need for us to have a meal, she still created one with the help of some ready-to-go side dishes.

Christmas came, my lady to talk to me about doing something for the house, I should have listened. I dismissed it as too much money and too difficult for the winter. Instead, I spent a little money on a small book of photographs for her of our pets and a few trinkets and syrup for the shaved ice machine I bought her for our anniversary. She bought me a few fun items, including a novelty statue for the bathroom.

January came, and I stayed home for two weeks because of a breakout at the store. It was dreary. I worked, I wrote, I played video games, and I watched Netflix and YouTube. My lady and I sunk deeper into depression. I kept more to myself. She became more active online.

For my birthday, in mid-January, she got me a fabulous little decanter shaped like a globe with a ship inside. We had a bit of cake and tacos (my favorite) for dinner. It was a nice day.

Still, things marched forward. She asked about me going away for a week while she was on vacation. She needed time away from me and everything. She couldn’t just take off because she’s unable to drive because of a health condition. I didn’t want to. Aside from the depression, all the individuals I would have gone to see had health concerns. Instead, I stayed at a local hotel for a couple of days and worked on writing projects. She tried to do things around the house that we had talked about but that I had ignored.

I saw some light. The money coming in from writing was enough that we could start having a bit of extra cash. We went to the nearby town that we visited monthly for groceries and supplies for her birthday lunch. We ate at a good but a bit overpriced pizza restaurant and did some shopping. Valentine’s day was the day before, and I got her a few gifts, and she got me some very practical, thoughtful gifts.

My mood continued to improve. It seemed like a light was finally at the end of the tunnel. I was scheduled to receive my first dose of the Moderna vaccine on March 3rd. I was ecstatic. Even the car problems that we had to pay $500 near the beginning of February didn’t have me soured.

On Thursday, March 5th, it was like any other day. My lady and I went to work to do the ad changes, as I had done every Thursday for a few years. She had lost her ID and needed to get a new one, which she could only do at 1:30 p.m. I left work early, breaking my car's steering wheel getting in. I’ve always been heavy, but this last year I put on significant weight.

Breaking the steering wheel was a massive blow to me, and she consoled me as best as she could. We created a plan by the end of the day, though at the time, I only knew part of it. I would take the car to get fixed on Monday, and she would stay at the hotel for her graveyard shifts over the weekend, so I didn’t have to drive the vehicle.

We stopped at the grocery store on the way home, and she picked up the stuff to make tacos. After an early dinner, I settled down to work on a writing project. I had one to finish up. Then I needed to start another, writing a list of board games, a topic I rather enjoy.

About an hour after dinner, she came in and sat down, and said we need to talk. I thought she was going to bring up my weight and our health. She had mentioned to me about going to get my prostate examined at dinner. I braced myself for this conversation.

Instead, I was dealt a crushing blow. She explained she needed to break off the relationship. I’ve written a lot about our relationship in the week since she left, and right now, it’s been almost exactly a week since she left. I won’t divulge more here. We both had issues, but I have to be honest and confess that I bear the lion’s shares of the responsibility for our relationship failing and leave it at that.

That moment crushed me. I’ll feel this loss for the rest of my life. We had dreams of growing old together, and now they’re gone.

It’s been a week since I helped load the scant items she could take with her in the back of her co-worker’s pickup truck, and she left. I want us to remain friends. We spent seven wonderful years together, and I don’t regret a single moment of the joy we had. I only regret my failings, and hers, at keeping us together.

Before she left, I printed off the rules that I had written in August. Not to persuade her to stay, because that was a bridge I failed to cross a month prior unknowingly, but to show her I had hope for me (and for us) in this shit year.

Since last Friday, I’ve put in tremendous effort to keep to the rules. As best I can. I’ve changed my diet drastically, with no real cravings to go back the other way. I’ve become more productive than I have in a long time, I’ve finished a lot of writing, and I’ve cleaned much of the house—something that she and I had become very neglectful about and had never been good at doing.

Every day is a battle. I live in a house far too large for one person, far too quiet, and far too old with too many memories. The pets we had that she brought into the relationship with her are now with me, and they are sad and miss her. I do my best to keep them happy and show love.

This year has been terrible. Loss after loss, depression, and more mental strain and stress than I ever thought I could handle, capped off with a dark blow that I bear the weight. I’m at the bottom of the well, and I have two options, dig deeper, or climb up. I’m trying to climb up.

I don’t know what the future holds for me. I thought I had an idea. That changed on March 5th. I know that I have to change my life for the better. And I’m walking that road now, slowly but surely. I don’t consider the year 2020 to have started on January 1st but on March 12th. With that, today is the end of that terrible year for me. I have to walk on and hope.