Good Grief?

Grief is isolating. Nobody grieves in exactly the same way, so even if you and I have lost the same person, future or possibility, how we grieve will not be the same.

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Grief is a funny thing. Some days you are fine and function normally. Other days it takes your breath away and leaves you grasping for a life raft.

I wrote about grief in one of my previous blog posts (read here). While all I wrote in that post is still true, I see that there are so many more facets to contend with when going through a grieving process.

Grief is a heavy thing, and carrying it around in my heart, my soul and deep in my bones is exhausting; pasting on a fake smile to make others feel better, comfortable and welcome. Each day takes a monumental effort to function and seems to last forever, yet the next day comes along so quickly and I’m having to start all over again. Each day a battle to be fought with success one day and failure the next. But always another day, another struggle.

Then there’s the feeling of my heart being squeezed so tightly that it’s almost impossible to breathe. And just when I think I’ve found a release valve for the ache, something will happen and the vice will be turned again with a vengeance squeezing even tighter. Or of being shattered into a million pieces and having to slowly and painfully put them together again, hoping that the sledgehammers stay away long enough for you to begin to hope that the grief is passing.

It drains the happiness out of the day. Things and people I would normally respond to seem to take on a sepia, vintage like hue, reminiscent of dream sequences in films where all the colour is leached out of the scene.  Joy and happiness become vaguely remembered concepts, leaving me with sadness, tiredness and an overwhelming urge to stay in bed.

Grief is isolating. Nobody grieves in exactly the same way, so even if you and I have lost the same person, future or possibility, how we grieve will not be the same.

It is painful to talk about and uncomfortable for other people especially those closest to me, leaving me and each person affected isolated in their own bubble of inky darkness to try and find a way out. There are times a beam of light will shine through causing ripples like a stone in the pond. It gives me hope that life is finally becoming less exhausting and more normal, only for the seeping dark to gently ooze in again and block it all out.

Grief has hollowed me out, and left me bedraggled on the side of the road empty and vulnerable.  I know I have to make an effort. I know that “this too shall pass”. Time is a thief and does not heal all wounds, but I know the quickest way to leave it behind me is to go through it. I’m just fed up of the view of this landscape. And I’m tired; so very, very tired.

 

Author: thegiftedbear

I'm a 36 year old Australian who, in the last 8 years, has been coming to terms with the fact that I am Gifted, and exactly what this means. Contrary to very popular belief about gifted people, this does not mean I have my life sorted, in fact, quite the opposite. This blog is about the highs and lows that I experience in my journey as I discover what being gifted means to me. I believe in love, romance, happy endings and silver linings. I believe we are never given more than we can handle, and everyone has a story if you just take the time to listen. I believe there are no coincidences and we can define ourselves by the people in our lives. I love my family, they are, and always will be, priority number one. Studying at uni, completing a Masters Degree in Gifted Education, with the view of setting up a foundation advocating for children on a global level. "Ideal teachers are those who use themselves as bridges over which they invite their students to cross, then having facilitated their crossing, joyfully collapse, encouraging them to create bridges of their own." -- Nikos Kazantzakis

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