Sometimes I think as a survival mechanism that my brain comes up with, there are times when my horrible, intense grief changes into something else. Oh the grief is still there, but my brain deals with it in a different way. I start feeling dead and empty inside. Though this is also a very horrible feeling, I guess it’s a respite from what I go through every moment of the day and night. It’s like my mind forms a dam around it where nothing can reach it. During those times it gives me the ability to pass Kaitlyn’s pictures by without stopping and lingering in front of them and running my finger across the image. It helps me not to grab a handful of her clothes that still smell like her and pretend I’m holding her. It allows me not to run my hand across the light switch that has pictures of cats on it that she picked out in her old room that is still there. I’m allowed to quickly walk past her key holder on the wall that has her keys and her fitness center card on it and not grab ahold of it and hope that I get some of her skin cells on my hands. I can walk past these things….avert my eyes….walk quickly by.
This deadness and emptiness does not last long before it starts feeling very uncomfortable. I feel like pressure builds up and I start feeling a way that I don’t even know what the name of it is. It builds and builds and I don’t know what it is. It’s horrible. I become so horribly bored but yet there’s nothing I want to do….nothing. But I’m so bored that it is painful. And the pressure starts building.
Then the dam bursts all at one time and I realize the weird, horrible feeling was my grief building up until I could no longer contain it and I’m once again thrust into its horror.
And then there’s other times when neither of the two are going on. Sometimes I am angry. I’m so very angry. The only thing is that there’s nothing I can be angry at. The very person that has hurt me more than I could ever imagine being hurt is no longer here. Besides, I can’t be angry at her. She died from a disease that made her kill herself. No, she never tried to even get help, but her disease made her think that was not an option. How can I be mad at that? So I have all this anger inside that has nowhere to go except for my poor clothes when I am changing in or out of them. Sometimes I just stop and beat them as hard as I can on my bed, or I hit my bed with my fists as hard as I can. Or worse yet, there’s my husband. Who I love with all my heart and suffers as much as I do only he is able to cope….does not know quite what to do with me. Sometimes when I have all this anger inside things come out of my mouth that have not seen the light of day for 30 years and I stop and think “was that me that just spewed that out of my mouth?” So he sits there and says nothing knowing that anything he could say would not be the right thing.
These are the main things I go through, but the other emotions of sadness, loneliness, depression and guilt and countless others too numerous to mention run rampant through my mind like a child in a playground…..only these are not happy.
Below: This is me. (image by Allie Brosh)