Weakness.

"And I wonder when I sing along with you, if everything could ever feel this real forever. If anything could ever be this good again?"

~ Foo Fighters, Everlong

 

I'm the sort of woman who wants to have all my shit together, emotionally speaking. I feel confident that I do a lot of the time, I'm emotionally strong and aware. But lately I've become a bit unsteady.

I thought I coped with change quite well. But on deep reflection, I don't - I am a creature of habit. I have lived in the same house for eight years, worked at the same organisation for ten, and seen the same doctor since I was six. I want routine, familiarity, stability and the knowledge that tomorrow will be relatively the same as today. I prefer creating my own change - paving my own path and creating forecasted excitement for myself. So when I don't have control over the change in my life, I struggle. I've struggled. I've cried There's been too much change to cope with this past month.

I tell myself that I'm lucky to have a full life - but I can't kid myself, that's not enough. Right now my heart is heavy and so are my eyes. Things change all the time, right? I'm mature, strong and smart. I'm strong and positive in all other parts of my life, so I feel I should have my shit together in this situation. And so I feel that my inability to cope with change is a weakness.

I've written farewell letters - both to and on behalf of - and writing these was like writing eulogies. As I wrote I thought of the past with fondness and the future with fear. I don't want to do this without them.

Losing influential people is hard. Only they've not gone anywhere, except away, and I'm still where I am. I don't know what's harder.

I can't deny the fact that this change (among other factors - good and bad) has affected my skin. I'm the sorest I've been in months. I've been getting headaches more than three times a week - I usually get a headache once a year. I've been worried. I've had a short fuse and am trying too hard to please. I've had to talk myself into positivity. I hope this is temporary because its no fun being unhappy.

I wonder about grief. I have definitely learnt someone doesn't have to die for you to experience it. There's definitely a sense of grief here. I haven't vocalised my feelings until I've written them here. It hurts to write this, it's been the type of writing that leaves me tasting tears, feeling I've run a marathon. Maybe I'll talk to someone, or maybe these words will be like a bird released?

I can see some blue sky out there, I can. Things have even been surprisingly enjoyable since. I just need to get back that steady feeling of knowing my place.

 

I've done too much thinking, so I can't think of a title

"...You are my friend
We’ve always had an understanding yeah
I can’t comprehend
How we’re now talking different languages

I believe in love

I believe in love
I believe in love
But do you?

And it’s true everybody knows
People come and people go
You mean much more to me
I don’t one of those to be you
But I really don’t know what I can do

I believe in making up
I believe in making up
I believe in making up
But do you?"
~ Bob Evans, Friend

 

This weekend will mark one year. Friday at around 5.00 pm to Monday at around 8.30 am. I remember every single moment. And I wish I didn’t. I am dreading it.

I have three options to get me through. Look at whether there is a memory eraser, akin to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Spend the whole weekend drunk. Or do stuff to take my mind off it. I’ve already got dinner and movies with a friend on Friday night. And offers of phone calls during the weekend. And getting in and doing some things I need to make happen. For me. That is a start.

It is only an anniversary. Only a series of memories strung together. Only things that I remember. The best things. The worst. The things that only two people in this world know. I’ll be ok. Just breathe.

I am feeling a bit better than I did 4-5 weeks ago, when the day came that I wasn’t needed anymore. In the second week, I researched what grief feels like. The sadness. The heaviness. The worthlessness. And the hopelessness. These feelings combined were foreign to me. I hadn’t experienced grief properly before, and for this I felt guilty – should I have felt it when someone I knew died? Especially when I still think there was nothing tangible lost. 

I saw there were five stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I think I missed the person-to-person bargaining stage and just did this in the form of writing many unsent letters. And there was never any denial. I knew the reality. I now swing between anger and sadness. I wake up with all these words on my mind, things I want to say, but can’t and probably won’t. More unsent letters in my head. Sadness is heavy. I want to feel fun again.

I went to see the counselor again. The first visit, in July, was to help me help him. This visit was to help me. It was good to talk things through, without the “I told you so’s” and judgment – all well-meaning of course. And it was good to know my feelings are valid. For so much of this has been wondering whether it's stupid to feel the way I do. 

I keep thinking I was just a reserve. There just in case. The worst feeling is that of being used. It has grabbed me with its force and wrung me out. I don't do regret, blame or resentment well, so the feelings and blame seem to be self imposed.

This isn’t a friendship. This has been reduced to communication by Facebook likes. Of course I could click unfriend and block. I’ve already removed the newsfeed. Nothing more uplifting than my top news notifying me the one I love is in a relationship with someone else. But I feel like I owe him more than that. Plus, jut because someone’s off your Facebook feed doesn’t mean they’re off your mind. The politics of social media make all forms of relationships more complex. I am keeping a brave front for my Facebook friends – the majority of whom know me personally, and of course, him. Yet over on Twitter I am venting my anger and sadness with lyrics and pictures and sarcastic digs. The relatively anonymous support is comforting. And here on this blog, it’s what the counsellor encouraged me to do. Write. It’s more censored and considered than on Twitter though.

And the acceptance in my grieving process? I've decided two things. Taken from a song lyric - I can't bear to see you with another, but dear I hope you're happy all the same. And this. My new mantra: to treat myself better, I have to find someone who will treat me better.