Grief is a funny thing. It has this tendency to linger like stale cigarette smoke.
"Keep it together, don't lose your shit", I tell myself, not daring to make eye contact with the cashier that will soon scan my books, because she looks like someone who would care enough to ask me what is wrong, or if she can help, or god forbid, look at me with pity.
Can she help? No. No, she can't. She can't because this grief makes little sense to anyone. It doesn't really make sense
My grief makes sense because of the cumulation of tragic moments in my life. Tragedy I don't always remember but tragedies my body doesn't forget.
So, when people ask what is wrong, I can't always say. And if I can, I can't make it make sense to others. So, I no longer try. I grieve by myself in small moments while standing in the checkout line or while making dinner. Sometimes in the shower and often in the still small hours of the morning when my brain likes to wake up and recall all
I prefer to grieve alone even though it's very lonely. I prefer the loneliness because everyone wants words. They flit around asking what is wrong, and what can they do, and what happened. None of which I answer. My grief has no words. And the words that
I cannot cry. I cannot scream. I cannot breathe. My grief feels like
Lie down and feel the prickle of tears that never quite come. I wish they would. I think it would help me feel better. I think
I can cry about a lot of things. Especially nowadays. But not this. This grief doesn't permit tears. The reason
I stand and breathe and try not to vomit. I try not to snap at the rude people around me because why do you have to be such a fucking dick when there is so much heartbreak happening everywhere. Happening here.
Keep breathing. Don't lose your shit. Just keep breathing.
My brain is supremely unhelpful. It efficiently brings forth everyone who has wronged me and details every
Just keep breathing. Don't lose your shit.
Ever so slowly I can feel the grief recede. This invisible struggle to save my life leaves me exhausted. I have nothing left. Now when I'm asked what is wrong, I say "nothing, I'm just tired" which isn't
It's at bay for now. And I made it through the checkout. I even talked to the cashier appearing to be a
If she had, I would have told her the same thing, "I'm just tired" because those are the only words that can survive being spoken.