Don't Look Back In Anger

Wednesday, December 09, 2020

Someone recently asked me what stage of grief I am in after I discussed the seven stages with them. 

Denial, I told them. Still processing all that's been going on, and still trying to make sense of all that's happened. 

Except, I think, I may have moved on to the second stage. Anger. 

I was supposed to travel, starting today. I don't know what really transpired (I know exactly what did) but this was going to be my reclaiming my life trip, with a near stranger for two days. 

Covid (in his case) and a minor accident (in my case) prevented that plan from happening and I couldn't be more glad, at this moment, to admit that it didn't happen. Perhaps, it is my anger or PMS (due date 7 days later) or whatever else, but everything right now is amplified. All my emotions are charged and I am really fucking angry. 

Angry at people, who don't care for my wrath or me. Angry at friends, who do not understand what it's like to grapple with the loss of someone, angry at over-friendly pals, who want to help with good intentions and yet are not understanding of what I've gone through and going through, and then with those, who haven't been there at all. 

There's nothing but a lot of aggression and hate for one and all and I'm living with all of it, compressed and packed for it to be preserved like a vial of bitterness, to be slowly injected over time, over months and years, and I'm afraid, it might never change. 

Last week, my therapist had asked me to allow myself to blow off the steam, if I felt the need to, and I told her I'd been doing that. Over tweets, small mentions here and there with friends and strangers. To think, I fully understand her today would also mean to admit that I wasn't quite blowing it off because it's coming over at me like high tide.

I want to howl and I want to break plates and I want to scream and tell people to fuck off. Fuck off with your plans to meet, hang out and fuck off with your fake concerns. And at the same time, I feel absolutely and hopelessly alone, scrambling for someone to talk to, hear from and hold on to. Anyone. Yet, everything and everyone frustrates me. 

More than that, I think it's the idea of waking up daily and see the faces of the remaining members of the family. The ones who have outlived him, and hearing everyone talk. It is all too much to take, stuff that starts at 6 am and somehow in that moment, when you're half asleep but fully conscious, you hear his name and feel like he's there, in his room, waiting for the newspaper and sipping his first cup of tea, asking about how you're doing and what your day looks like. 

Except he's not. 

All that's left are people who don't quite understand and don't really care. 

That breaks me, minute after minute and day after day. I feel like there's nobody and despite all the noise about help and solidarity and friendship, it's all farce. 

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