Blues of grief

2.

Adult life. We dream of experiencing such a thing that turns out to be something we dread later on. The worst part of it all isn't about letting go of the idea of dreams but the expectations of finding a solution to everything even when we are not ready, otherwise we are stuck and it gets harder. An aspect of responsibility and a sense of providing everything I can to support takes over the wheel and then the journey of grief gets complicated as it can. Beyond the human brain can process, such complexities don't make sense to get by daily.

The wounds that were plastered get stretched until it's broken.

The effort to be alive while being dead inside seems as difficult as breathing without the person whom I lost. I lost myself, the sense of being a kid, the pretense of being strong to tackle everything, the brightness, the ability to be fragile burnt with his body.

The shield inside the heart gets thinner as each day goes by and it's the worst when I see his photos again which I try so hard not to every day. It's a different kind of war that I was left with by after his passing.

Opening his cupboard filled with his clothes, the perfumes still there though, his things that are filled with dust in the working drawers, the photo frames on the wall in the corner and of course the photo which hangs with a garland which is a reminder that a human is not here anymore.

They say grief has five stages to get in terms of the fact. But how to get into terms when my mind accepts that he isn't there and my heart fights in denial?

The amount of anger that burns through every single blood vessel for him leaving me behind abruptly, gets terrific.

The unanswered questions and the doubts do their best to diminish my courage, the emotions that get to the surface and leave me with everything yet nothing at the same time every time I think of him or look at his photos or his videos which recorded his voice.

One of the biggest fears of losing someone and falling into this pit of grief is that we might forget how their voice sounds like, how certain features of their face that only we notice are forgotten as time passes by, how the perfume that they used to put on them and the clothes becomes faint now.

Then grief takes second place, and the struggle to remember everything about them as I believe, at least they are home as long as I remember becomes stronger. Probably that's how most of the energy goes into it. Remembering everything despite the trauma memory gets weak.

I wonder if there was a stage after burn out because I believe that's where I am.

Indescribable. Exhaustion. A rollercoaster.