August 1, 2022
Time has no importance when it comes to grief.
Grief moves throughout space, time, dimensional processing.
Far beyond the limits of our rationale it hits us- permeating every inch of our energetic being without so much as a knock on the door. It blows us away. It shatters us to pieces. It destroys the home we once knew and built with a lightning-bolt’s worth of voltage and a matching 8.0 magnitude earthquake. Am I being dramatic? Perhaps. But with limited linguistic capacity (and a penchant for self-indulgent writing) this is the best I can do at the moment.
I sat with this grief for a while. It moved in with me. And, many days, I smiled at it. I gave it space. I saw it sitting in the corner like the black-haired girl from the Ring movies and I, in a complete state of denial and delusion, figured she was a happy camper and would make herself comfortable. Acceptance required seeing reality for what it was and is. Despite it’s ever-changing nature, the reality of the loss is too large to bear in once single dose. A single dose of grief in its most potent form is enough to kill a person’s soul. No, I could not and would not venture to stomach the loss, the losses, in one fell swoop. Rather, take a spoonful every day and be silent in my suffering. My healing. My journey (does anyone else remember the days this word was yet to be co-opted by the Bachelor franchise?).
Regardless, I didn’t have any words. Processing has been completely nonverbal. It’s been visceral. Sound has been involved, sure, but no words with meaning. I couldn’t bear it.
It makes me wonder if facing the reality of grief is like medicine. The loss, inevitable. The healing made possible by facing reality. It’s a theory long espoused by AA and other recovery groups. If you’re new to this blog, you’ll soon come to learn that recovery is a large part of my daily existence and I’ve been in active recovery for nearly a decade. That means something different to each person, so if you want to ask me about it please do so in a DM or otherwise and we can have a chat.
Anyway, reality is the only medicine. The only way forward. The Buddhist tenant of accepting what is without resistance. Contradictions true all at the same time. Emotional complications getting more nuanced and grey as the years go by. We shared love. It is not something we share anymore. But, we are no less loved or short on supply of love as a result. We are both imperfect people worthy of our heart’s desires. My ego, insecurities, and fears may have gotten in the way of my ability to share that love with ease, effortlessness, and honesty. I loved. My conditioning made it so that I became afraid, for those I love have sometimes left and the pain of that I still process, almost daily, in small doses. You became the object not only of my love, but also of my fears. You represented, in physical form, a valuable possession I became afraid to lose. Maybe I held on too tightly. Maybe I sabotaged it. Maybe it’s all for the best. Maybe we will never know. All I know is that reality is exactly what it is as a result of more decisions and choices than we would ever remember or count. I pray you have moved on to a new phase. Most days, I feel ahead of it. Then, in the minutes between sleeping and waking, my nervous system remembers what it was like to hold and be held by you. I forget everything else that makes that impossible in reality, today. I escape into a world of fantasy that served me well for so many years before. Only now, the inner world of fantasies and delusions and fears and hopes only causes me grief. It is what is known in Sanskrit as “maya.” It is all illusion. It is all fleeting phenomenon to which I’ve become emotionally invested, enmeshed, attached. I’ve latched the ego onto the horse whose gone running without a jockey. Then, I get carried along for the bumpy-ass ride. I’m tired, and facing reality. Alone.
Even so, it’s all good.
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