I feel I lived a whole lifetime in just a month, but I guess death does that to you.
Grief does that to you. I buried my father 2 weeks ago, but in many ways, it feels longer. It also feels like it was yesterday. Your perception of time disappears when you’re grieving. I wish could be one of those bloggers who pours her heart out in words on her blog. Finding comfort in sharing the pain and putting pen to paper, so to speak.
But I’m not, and I don’t. Instead, I hide. From myself, from the world and above everything else from the pain at least I am trying to. A friend said “Greif is love with nowhere to go’ – and I couldn’t agree more. Where do you send the love when that person is gone? Every day is different. I can be fine, and then suddenly I’m not. It’s a light switch I have no control over.
It’s been a month since my last blog post, just when I felt I started to get into the swing of things. The last time I posted was 3 days before he died. Little did I know that I would be spending that week with my arms wrapped around a man who had never been there for me, while he left this world. I can’t stop thinking. It’s like living in my own fucking torture cell. Me against my mind.
I have no idea how to start blogging again. I have a million things running through my mind. Do I start with a sponsored post? God knows I have so much work to catch up on. Something personal? Do I pretend like nothing has happened? I don’t feel like the same person anymore, and sometimes I wonder if I really have anything more to say. Anything more to share.
What is the etiquette for situations like this? Where does one begin again? Will I be judged for posting again now? I don’t know. I spend 90% of my time talking to myself in my mind. I know I am slowly starting to lose it. I can feel it and then suddenly, out of the blue I feel like myself again. Like I’ve just woken up, or somebody ha lifted a veil off my eyes. Is this what its like to go insane?
I want to be ready to write again. Need to be ready to write again. I don’t want to feel like every breath I take could be leading to a panic attack, I don’t want cry in my sleep anymore, and I don’t want have nightmares every time I close my eyes about new ways my father dies. I dont want feel so fucking much.
I am desperately craving normality, and although I have never done drugs I imagine this is what its like to want a fix. To need a fix.
Don’t be surprised if on Monday you see a new post. It might be sponsored one, it might be a personal one. It might be nothing at all. I am finding my strength in making my own etiquette and constantly remind myself that its ok not be ok.