5 Stages of Grief

Sometimes I forget, for whom I am writing. I catch myself thinking about what people would like to read, about the voice that reads familiar in other blogs, then remember that the purpose of this blog, is to find my voice. I am not writing to please, not writing to be mainstream. I am just writing. Writing for the sake of writing. So here I am.

Tuesday, June

Sitting on my bed alone, I turned my phone on Do Not Disturb, so as to be alone with my thoughts. Silence befell the world. If only I could quiet my mind, too.

I am anxious and have been anxious for over a week now. I know why. It’s circumstantial. This is how my brain processes and reconciles with the imminent passing of my grandma. Except I have ugly old habits associated with anxiety: When anxiety comes flooding, raging, and all-consuming, all I want to do is run. Escape. As far away as possible. Every fibre of my being aches for a new reality, a new beginning. Too bad that’s not how life works. Too bad that’s not how we get over our anxiety, either.

So instead, I sit.
In abject misery, I sit.
Staring into the abyss, I sit.
Amid palpitating heart beat, I sit.
Enveloped in fear and angst, I sit.
I sit. I sit. I sit.
And wait.
Trusting that eventually I will move onto the next stage of Grief, finally arriving at Acceptance.

But until then I can only sit. Sit and wait. Sometimes with eyes wide open, mouth agape. Sometimes overtaken by tears, heart wrenched in a fist.

No body ever said grieving was pretty.

Time moves in one direction, memory in another.

William Gibson

No place to hide

Falling Out of Love

Sometimes, falling out of love feels like a gentle awakening from deep, sweet slumber. Bleary-eyed, the person you once fell in love with slowly emerges from reality. You rob your eyes to see them more clearly. Little by little, you realize they are no longer the person with whom you wish to co-create your life adventures. And you are okay with that. Sometimes, people grow apart. You still love them, just not in the same way.

Other times, falling out of love feels like sobering up from a night of heavy drinking. You wake up to your life in absolute disarray: food scraps all over the kitchen, empty bottles, scattered clothes. You look at yourself in the mirror: haggard, make-up smudged, hair unkempt. With a pounding headache you think to yourself, “What have I done?”

Whatever was left of the alcoholic “liquid magic” now only incite a metallic, repulsive aftertaste in your mouth. The thought of having another sip makes your stomach churn.

And that’s how you feel about the person you are in a relationship with, too.

The future you once imagined to be alluring now falls flat, unappealing, even daunting. “What have I done?” You think to yourself.

Some people come in our life as blessings. Some come in your life as lessons.

Mother Teresa