Sunday, April 19, 2020

Shhhh.....

Don't talk about your grief.

Don't talk about your grief.

Don't talk about your grief.

This in my inner monologue when someone asks how I am.

Don't talk about your grief.

Don't talk about your grief. 

DON'T TALK ABOUT YOUR GRIEF.

0% of the population wants to know that you feel so incredibly grieved that there aren't adequate words in the English dictionary.  No one knows what to say.  Nothing can be done anyway.  Talking about grief is futile.  Literally nothing comes from it. 

No one wants to hear that I miss Goose so much that thinking of him suffocates me.  I drown in it constantly.  I parked next to a truck that was almost identical to his last week when I picked up my dinner.  I just sat there for 20 minutes.  It was indescribable.  I have never, in my near 42 years on Earth, ever felt so devastated over losing someone as I have for him. 

No one wants to hear that I miss my step dad so much.  That I feel such tremendous guilt.   It's like water.  It takes the shape of every vessel that will hold it.  It finds every single crack and fissure.  I read through his medical records.  I got to the end.  I got to his code sheet.  I can only imagine his final thoughts.  Where do I put that now?  How?  HOW do I close my eyes again and not envision it? I can't tell anyone.  This must be borne alone.  You cannot pass this intimate knowledge to anyone else who loved him. 

Don't talk about your grief.

Go to the desk and plot out your next project.  Overwhelm yourself with work because then you can't hear yourself think.  You can push it aside because you have a mission.  This is your bandage.  This is how you patch up a gaping hole.  You busy yourself until enough time passes that it's manageable.  But I've worked and dodged and dodged and worked and I still can't. 

Because I work so much that I exhaust myself so that I can crash from the weight of all of the projects.  I'll sleep better if I'm so tired that I can't keep my eyes open. 

Only, when my eyes are shut my brain creates beautiful scenes where I hear Goose's voice and see his face and he cares.  And I can walk into Gavril's apartment door and he's laying on the couch with his bible in his hand and he is smiling that famous, huge smile.  I wake up because I know it's not real.  Then I wake up with those sounds and images and  it's torture. 

Don't talk about your grief. 

There's a fucking pandemic.  And I'm crying over a not relationship and a dead stepfather.  This is ridiculous.  The world has bigger problems.  So I do what I can to help.  So much so that I forgot Gavril's birthday.  Now I feel guilty because I didn't make a cake or toast to his name or honor it in some way.  I couldn't figure out why that date kept sticking in my head.  When I figured it out, 3 days too late, I hated myself.  He's in my living room, on a shelf, in a pathetic black box.  I can't go sit in there right now.  Don't talk about your guilt.

Don't talk about your grief. 

Facebook isn't the place to air your dirty laundry - according to a bunch of know it all's who have support systems.  You have your husbands and friends and mom's and dad's.  My therapist is closed because of the pandemic.  My friends don't have money or security.  I have both.  SO DON'T TALK ABOUT YOUR GRIEF. 

Don't talk about your grief.

But, everyone is there for you if you'd just ask.  Tell people you're fighting to get out of your bed every day again.  Reach out.  I'm here for you.  We're all here for you.  Just don't talk about your grief. 

It's okay to be on medication.  But my doctor's office is overwhelmed and there's a line.  And, I can manage a week or so without my antidepressants, right?  As I type with unrelenting tears and a monstrous need to go lay in bed again.  Forever.  Just don't talk about your grief. 

Don't talk about your grief.  DON'T FUCKING TALK ABOUT YOUR GRIEF. 

It's trivial.  Don't you know that so many things are going on?  Where are your fucking priorities?  There are sick people.  Your friends are out of work.  And your pathetic ass is crying about a guy who didn't give a fuck about you and a dead step father that no one knew you had anyway.  So don't talk about your grief. 

Work 40 hours.  Help 3 kids with school work.  Run a business until your fingers bleed.  Be there for your friends and if you can't then the least you can do is not talk about your grief. 

They will think you aren't okay.  They'll tell you to count your many blessings.  You'll get annoyed because you are okay.  You just aren't always.  And you are usually okay because you have counted your many blessings.  Then they won't talk to you again for a while until they think the coast is clear and we can go back to memes and jokes or cats.  And you don't talk about your grief. And you'll be hurt because you just needed to cry but now you've made it weird.  You can't explain that you're simultaneously holding the world up by yourself and being completely crushed at the same time. 

It's all okay, as long as you don't talk about your grief. 

1 comment:

  1. Please talk about your grief, I get it! Call me if you just need to cry to someone, please. We can cry together. I have the same moments and I feel like everyone around me is sick of hearing about my grief as well. Love you Nyci and you can always talk to me about your grief.

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