Day 86: Tired of Pretending

May 25, 2014

Here's the reality. Here's the moment. I'm tired of pretending I'm ok. I'm exhausted from making myself get up each day and get out of bed. I'm weighed down from the grief and I'm angry at feeling tricked that it will pass when there are moments of enjoyment- laughing at something funny, enjoying the company of a friend, or watching my dog.

If I don't play along with "it's getting better and this will pass," I feel like I'm viewed as someone who thinks negatively or likes being stuck here. I can't imagine any one likes this feeling. On any level.

I constantly feel like I'm going to throw up. I have that just about to throw up feeling. All of the time.  And the deep sobbing. The deep sobbing has returned. The crying when I'm not expecting it and the sobbing that leaves me feeling completely wiped out.

"Try meditation," a well-meaning friend advised. I do that.

"You should think about what to be grateful for." I make a f-ing gratitude list each night. I do.

"Why don't you just get out and be with people?" I do that. Do you think I really want to be anywhere? I don't. But I go. To the story slam (and I participate), to a baseball game (and I talk to people), to work (and I engage students), to dinner with friends (and I eat.) I go because I make myself. I'm trying. I really am.

"Maybe you should just allow yourself to feel your feelings." Um. Have you seen me cry? I've lost the ability to stand while weeping outside of a subway station. I've slid down to the ground while leaning against the wall in the hallway where I go for Korean class. I've broken down in the middle of an otherwise upbeat conversation. If you've spent any time with me in the past 86 days, chances are you've seen me cry. Trust me. I'm feeling.

"I heard if you keep yourself busy."
"Take some time to just rest at home."
"Get a dog."
"Go for a run."
"Take yoga classes. Yoga helps."
"Breathe. Just breathe through it."
"Get out of yourself and be of service to others."
"Are you reading about grief? Reading about it helps."
"How about a counselor?"

I'm doing it. I'm doing it. I'm doing it.

I.

am.

doing.

it.


And I'm tired. I'm exhausted. This feels like the worst possible nightmare and I can't wake up. I can't get out of it. The pain is not easing.

I've had lighter moments in this process. I've had days of joy and periods of knowing this will pass. And I write about that when I'm there.

Something tells me it's just as important to write about this- where I am right now- to show that the grieving process is not linear. I didn't get "through the rough part." I moved away from it. And I moved back into it. And I'll move away from it again, I'm sure.

But in the moment, I'm done. I'm through. I want to give up and fall to the floor and say "I can't do this anymore." I want to break down. I want to become unhinged. I want to stop pretending I can hold it together, because sometimes I don't feel like I can.

It surprises me, this inner instinct to stay alive and to keep going. Because I keep doing it. Every day. I keep doing it. And that's not strength. And that's not perseverance. That's just a miracle. God's grace. The grace of God.

God, be with me. Guide me. Protect me.

Gareth, I can't tell you how much I miss you. I want you to come back. Come back to me. Whole. And healed. And please. Let's make this work.