The whole “protecting myself” situation by the way involves a few key ingredients:
- at least 2 glasses of wine or hard alcohol to find that perfect sweet spot to numb the mind and find some much needed sleep
- not hanging out with people I want to punch in the face. (this was difficult the first 2 weeks because I wanted to punch everyone in the face)
- allowing myself to have the philosophy of “f*** it!” running through my mind (obviously I mean the “I couldn’t care less” mentality rather than having lots of sex mentality)
- making [insert hubs name here] promise that when he gets his school loan for this semester I buy a canon rebel xti (still no clue as to what the hell I need a fancier camera for, but it’s nice to have something bigger than a pack of small chicas v-necks from target in my future to purchase)
- allowing myself to feel better than everyone else who’s never experienced loss, pain and/ or true grief and/ or serious depression. (“Eff all those effing pansy ass jerkoffs who would never even truly come close to appreciating pure joy!”)
- Listening to heartbreakingly sad, sappy, often times involving some sort of slow piano playing songs in my car when I’m driving by myself. (No one knows I’m crying if I have sunglasses on and in my air conditioned car.)
