Hi all,

It's been a while since I last posted on this site. Sadly, my wife passed away with metastatic ovarian cancer, just over two weeks ago. She had been diagnosed with cancer back in the summer of 2018. She was in and out of hospital on many occasions, but really started going downhill last October, the cancer had spread to her lungs and she was tethered to an oxygen machine for most of the day, which she absolutely hated. In January of this year, she began having difficulty eating, either unable to eat hardly anything, or throwing stuff back up. The hospital couldn't work out why this was happening, but in the meantime, I spent four months slowly watching my wife starve to death. She went from 12 stone to under 7 in around 5 months, and there was nothing I could to help her (and believe me, I tried every single trick in the book to get some calories inside her). 

My wife had told me, some months back, that I had started to sleepwalk (which I'd never done before), and whilst I did this I would ramble on about imaginary friends, even an imaginary, long-lost son and daughter. It was like I was trying to escape t from the horrors of what was happening to my wife. Since her passing, all I can think about is spending long months in lockdown, watching her starve. I can't stop thinking about the morning she died, either, it consumes most of my days. I feel guilt because she was repeatedly making a really strange, annoying noise on the morning that she died (I didn't expect her to actually die on that morning, as she seemd okay when we both got up, and earlier than usual, too) and it was irritating me, though, obviously I never told her that. My anxiety is through the roof, I can't do any of my old hobbies, there's no interest there even though I've tried. I just seem to be totally consumed by grief and guilt, I am not sleeping much, not eating much, and drinking far too much. 

We hadn't, obviously, had any sort of sexual relationship since my wife got ill. I never complained, all I cared about was her staying alive, the sex thing was not important. Not that long ago, my wife joked that I should hire a prostitute, as she would never be able to make love with me again. I said I'd be happy with a blow-up doll, if it came to that, which it wouldn't, because all I cared about was her staying alive. Since her passing, I was chatting to a family member about that conversation, and they informed me that sex dolls are amazing these days. They showed me a UK site that sells robotic ones, and I really wish they hadn't, because I am now spending hours obsessing over that bl**dy site, looking for some sort of robotic companion, as I don't want to be with another woman ever again, I feel lthat if, at some point down the line, I met another woman, it would be a massive and unforgiveable betrayal to my wife (even though she expressely said, on more than one occasion, that she wanted me to meet someone else after she'd passed), who really was the absolute love of my life. Except I'm now desperately lonely and have always had a stupidly high sex-drive. So I am now obsessing about buying a s*dding robotic sex doll as some sort of way of filling this absolutely huge hole that's now in my life.

To cut a long story short, do you think I've got post traumatic stress disorder? I do. 

Cheers,

Mark