Grief is like… a revolving door
One moment you’re fine
The next you’re in tears, snot-nosed and wheezing
Then you have the audacity to feel fine again,
Mere moments later
As a result, sad and slow music is on repeat
Then somehow, suddenly, you’re okay again
But it feels short-lived
Grief is like… walking a tightrope
You do your best to stay upright don’t see it coming but suddenly you’re tipping over
And now it’s all you have to meet your regular obligations
You must now exert energy to simply appear better outwardly than you feel
Sometimes you even forget to eat during the day
One meal + some snacks per day becomes your goal
One moment you’re laughing and enjoying life
The next you want nothing more than to crawl into bed and stay there for a millennia
Grief is like… the ocean
It becomes increasingly harder to leave the house
Your depression comes and it goes
As it pleases
And in waves of absurd size
You know exactly what it is that would make you feel better
But you also actively do not want to do it
Or anything
But watch horror movies, curled up on the sofa with the love of your life (your cat)
Work becomes meaningless (another email… for what reason??)
People attempt to cheer you up but it’s fleeting
It usually just makes you cry more
Grief is like… fog
You can operate while it’s present
But it makes its presence known
Continually
It’s heavy
And resting on you
Prevalent
Grief is like… a lightswitch
Except someone else is controlling it
You can’t see them
You can’t influence them in any way
So you try your best to go about your life
And some days, you’re fine, good, back to normal almost
When the switch is on, it’s on…
And things are not good
And you find yourself crying
Often
And randomly
But when the switch is off, it’s nice
Grief is like a veil.
Grief is like a wet overcoat. It hangs on you.
Grief is like time passing, constant.
Grief is like a shapeshifter.
This is what I am learning.
