I recently found myself in a downward spiral of seclusion from a death that I thought I had processed and worked through.
Apparently not.
It hit like a ton of bricks.
Like I had been hit by the car they can't find that hit and killed my friend.
Suddenly. Out of nowhere. Left to die.
The reality of those moments and how they unfolded two years ago came flooding back.
Not just of my friend and her death and processing that, but of all the other things that were going on in my life in the moment. All those things I have since endured months of therapy to be able to process and get past.
And here it was.
Like I never left.
People don't believe me that I'm an introvert. I was an extrovert as a kid (the correct term for me is an ambivert, although I have noticed I find myself favoring time alone) and have developed into an introvert the older I get and the more I come to know myself.
I can be extroverted. I can play the card. I can use it when it's just easier to push past my desire to be alone as to avoid questions people don't really want the answer to.
But when I'm exhausted, when I'm drained, when I have nothing left to give of myself and all I want is to be alone, people don't know how to handle this.
It's not fair, really. Why do people care? Or rather, act like they care. They only care when they can see evidence of a difference, not during the day-to-day when they wreck my emotions and don't even bat an eye to it. Don't get me wrong, sometimes it's needed. I like correction, I like knowing when I'm wrong so I can fix it. But when you treat me like I'm at fault and implore all these negative thoughts and questions in my head about something that is as simple as a difference of opinion or ways of processing/handling things, that's not fair.
I tend to find myself in this situation often, questioning what could be wrong with me to bring this on again.
I'm not even going to go into defense of all the opinions I can hear people thrashing at me as to why it's my fault or how I should look at it. Trust me, I've tried.
And on most days, I'm successful.
But when I have this monster weighing on my back and heart, I'm barely getting through my own living, let alone having to interact with other people.
Grief is no joke.
And though I've been told that my life could be worse, to think of those who have been involved in "real" tragedy, that I'm fine and am making it out to be more than what it is, that I'm just too sensitive, this isn't the case.
I'll never forget the day I sat with my counselor and told her how many people I've known to die--some closer to me than others--in such a short time span, her jaw dropped and she was speechless.
Sure, I know a lot of people. But it seems to be a bit much, even for someone as friendly as me. That day in that office, I was beyond grateful to be in front of this lady with her clipboard, sitting on her couch. To know her credentials, and to know that this lady with those credentials who just heard my confession spill out of my mouth like I was saying the sky was blue recognized those words to be something worth grieving.
That was the thing, I didn't think I was allowed to grieve.
After all, I wasn't particularly close to them, per se.
The relatives that fell in the category lived almost 1,000 miles away from me, didn't remember who I was the last time I saw them. Surely that doesn't constitute the same kind of grief as someone who was raised by their grandpa, does it?
Surely it isn't as hard as someone who was best friends with, sister, brother, parent, mentor to the victim? I was, after all, just a friend.
Like so many other people.
No
Just someone who happened to know the person.
Another face in the funeral crowd.
"I should count my blessings. After all, I still have my Dad, Mom, Sister, Brother in law, Best friend since childhood, etc."
To me, that correlates to, "You have no real reason to grieve. Quit being dramatic."
No real reason to grieve...
By whose standards?
Who says I can't grieve?
No one knows what life is like for me
And I know a lot of people say that. And I know everyone is fighting things we can't see and will never know. But does that make mine any easier? Knowing that someone else is suffering? It breaks my heart, which I think is where much of my compassion spurns from.
Which is how I know so many people.
People who die.
And those who have yet to die.
Grief is no joke.
Which is why I find myself wanting to be alone when I know I can't handle interaction.
When the questions open old wounds.
When curiosity fuels masked concern.
When people want to point and stare, and whisper about the impenetrable girl wonder showing a crack of something different than the sunshine they've grown accustomed to.
When demands can't be met.
When humanity is overlooked, and selfishness arises.
I'm not an animal in a zoo.
I'm not an artifact in a museum.
I'm not an oddity at a circus.
I'm human. I feel. I break. I cry. I grieve.
Yes, I will rise above this.
And when I get knocked down, I won't stay there forever.
I'll rise again.
But in that moment you see me in the valley, please don't gawk.
It's a process for me just like anyone else.
You don't know the connections I did have with that person.
How this is affecting my daily life.
How what I know from my past becomes painful, because the memory is laced with someone now gone.
How I see them in dreams, over and over and over again.
You don't know what I know.
Grief is no joke.
My friend who knows grief as a bitter friend gave me this advice.
The struggle of grief is not for the faint of heart. The myth that "it gets better with time" isn't exactly true... It may get better in regards to the daily struggle, but I've learned that the waves of grief hit harder than before because they're seemingly unexpected. Just hang on, endure, allow yourself to grieve, let your soul weep, and when it passes the warmth of the morning sunshine will be pleasantly bittersweet. Taking naps helps me, because sleeping at night is usually a challenge due to my grieving mind. Naps are the best I love you, my sweet friend. Always here if you need me!That is what helps grief.
Knowing you're not alone.
That being in this place is okay. That you have to be there for a time.
That you can't stay there, and that's the beauty of it.
Grief is no joke,
But grief will subside.
Fight to get there.
(and take naps. because they're the best.)
No comments:
Post a Comment