How to grieve

They always tell you that nobody grieves the same way. It’s absolutely true. It’s also true that you don’t really have a lot of control over which way will be your type of grieving.

Some people cry a lot and get it out of their system. Some get really drunk. Some just feel overcome by a depressive state.

Mine is by mostly trying to avoid my feelings because I don’t have a safe place to put them. I enmesh myself in the other things in my life. Distract myself with tackling problems that are easier to solve. I don’t think anyone is able to deal with the intensity of my emotions and so, in my heart they tend to stay.

Of course, that isn’t to say they don’t come out in other, unexpected, ways. The other day someone close to me said something to me, and all I heard was the voice of my father coming out of his mouth. And for a moment I snapped. I just snapped. I looked at him with fury–which was merely disguising my hurt–and he looked at me like I was a stranger.

A complete stranger to him.

“You’re so unpredictable”, he said. “I never know how you’re going to take anything anymore. I can’t say anything to you.”

Yeah, well, that’s how I feel too. I feel unpredictable and I just want to go back to when I was… Reliable.

But ain’t nobody got time for that. Right? No. They really don’t. Nobody has time to put up with my grief. Because watching someone unravel is hard. You’re helpless to help them. And nobody wants to feel helpless. So, they push me away. Keeping themselves safe from my storm.

I get it. I do. My mind understands it’s not personal. By my heart feels rejected. I could really use knowing that if I go crazy for a while, I’ll still have something left. But, the evidence is that I won’t. I will have nothing left at the end of this. Absolutely nothing. I’ll be forced to completely start over and I’m not sure I will have it in me.

It’s a scary reality I am struggling with facing. Where do you beging again? How do you begin again when you’re whole life falls apart?

Ah, but life is a bitch and you just don’t get what you want so much of the time.

The second best way to avoid your feelings is by processing them through others. Finding someone else who is also hurting and put all your care into them. Make their tears your tears. Their complaints your complaints. Live vicariously through their meltdowns, because you know you aren’t allowed to have your own.

You subconsciously think things like, maybe if I’m a source of loyal, endless support to these good hearted, hurting, people, then I will earn the right to have my own meltdown. And maybe someone will look at you and say, “hey. This girl usually has her shit pretty well together. She’s done more good than bad, at any rate. She’s been there for me. And I wanna be there for her now. I want to make her feel safe.”

But that never happens. Instead you just grow attached. You fuck your head up real good by loving them so much that it physically hurts you. And maybe it even hurts them. Somehow. Maybe you’re dependant on the distraction and when they no longer need you–and I assure that times always comes. Always–you find yourself faced, once again, with the depth of your own sorrows. By then, of course, the socially acceptable time frame under which people will put up with your mourning will have ended.

I’m a good listener. I give really fucking good advice. But, I rarely have any for myself. Or maybe I’m not ready to face my inner therapist. Because I resent her for knowing what to do and not knowing how to do it.

I’m a fixer. And I can’t fix myself.

It’s a curse.

Intensive Care

I observe death,
painfully.
Watch it
overcome,
slowly.
Praying, loudly
with passion,
and conviction,
for it to make a turn
and come back to me.
To us all.
Silently wishing,
as time continues,
dragging on and on,
and still I see no signs
of recuperation.
Or restoration.
And without the element of
surprise,
or miracle,
or even dumb luck,
on its side…
That it would just give in.
Quickly.
Peacefully.
Compassionately.
It its sleep.
Like a true victim would.