Where do you go to grieve, when you don’t know where you are?
As if there’s too much weight to carry yourself and your heavy heart.
What do I do with this grief, no one wants to touch?
I cannot share this terrible poo poo platter, inviting friends to listen during their lunch break.
Burdened them with my burden.
I don’t want inquiry from a therapist, I want validation.
Deep curiosity as if they’re listening to a story of creation.
Maybe I should be talking to an author instead.
And what do I really even have to say, that’s not been said?
“How do you feel?”
I don’t even believe these feelings are real. As if imaginary, inexperienced, therefore not in our vocabulary, nor understanding. Am I really real? Am I alive?
I have a sleep phobia now as my eyes feel like rocks, but I don’t want to go to sleep, this day cannot begin again, I can’t bear to feel anything anymore. I don’t want to dream because if I do, it’s like waking up in the middle of this one, even though I’m not asleep yet. It’s pain on either sides of my eyelids. I just want to stay awake so nothing shocks me awake.
I try to seek comfort from those who’ve lost an actual human being, someone so precious to them it feels like….everything. These people are my only hope. I want to take notes.
I have phobias of people stealing, robbing me of something I have. Almost as if I have guilt of having something, even if it’s nothing. This landslide ‘robbed’ me of everything I knew and was. I no longer think it has much spiritual significance, as I’ve already worked that, many lifetimes in this one. But the torture that unfolds, the PTSD, the surge of crying mania, horrifed at the rewounding by man’s unconsciousness is something I can’t begin to describe.
I feel like nothing is comprehensible, especially the human code.
I question every day if I’m really here – in-body?
Then I feel bad.
Those who did lose their human, would give everything to be able to question that, instead of re-injuring that inconvenient truth.
What did I lose? My privilege? My possessions? My livelihood? Who cares. I agree with them, not me.
But yet, this doesn’t bring me any closer to my answer.
I have lost everything tangible. But I do have my family, even though we just lost our matriarch. I have my husband and kids but I don’t want my gratitude to over flavor the taste of what I’m trying to bring up for myself.
I feel bitter and un-tamely horrified.
I feel deeply unloved.
Was I even supposed to be loved?
I feel that I cannot even share these feelings because it will be misinterpreted, read with guilt, and then mansplained back to me, but all I want is to be heard so I can hear me with empathy. I cannot carry this. No one can. No one should.
I don’t miss the things that were taken from me per say, but what crushes my soul, is the no-longer possibility. It’s the possibility of a dream that’s dead. Lights out.
And then I sleep awake questioning another reality.
Am I allowed to feel this way?