…and in the days that would follow her sudden death and burial, I came to realize that anger was simply easier than grief. Being pissed off – blatantly or subtly – became my frequent companion…a sarcastic friend growing more familiar and more constant. Depending on my many moods, I could be increasingly more annoyed, displeased, aggravated, irritable, indignant, hostile, bitter. Rage became less uncommon. Obsessed with whose to blame, I was on a mission.
Grief was my slow burn. Drinking more, gambling more, high more…even fucking more. More avoidance became my elixir for less pain. More distractions. Make no mistakes. I’m sure you don’t understand. I have every right to feel like this.
You don’t understand and I’ve convinced myself you can’t understand. I’m misunderstood.
Pretending fairly well at work, most days anyways…I am worse alone. Little things became big issues with no effort. Traffic, spilled milk, Fox News, just running late…no matter…stupid people piss me off. I don’t need the aggravation. Easily distracted, I crave new and different ways to keep my internal departments in tight order and declare to all I have no interest in dealing with any of that shit… I told you I don’t care!
I’m not going back…there’s no returning. Dead is dead. All that’s left is her ghost that haunts me.
But all the while, I would surely know my anger was my poison. Toxicity leaking gradually into my thinking, my loving, my body, my soul. Pushing others away while making room for “just let me be” and my growing desires to control anything or anyone that’s really uncontrollable. I don’t want to hear it.
OK…You happy now? I Googled it.
Pissed is best than helpless, hopeless and disinterest.
Bad sleep, bad energy, preoccupied…not much interest anymore.
Sometimes reckless… I said “fuck it.” It don’t matter. Hypercritical, more judgmental but don’t ask me to decide. Self-loathing. Aches and pains…back hurts…stiff neck…I’m sore, God damn it!
I don’t remember when I missed the part that I was dying too.
Leave me alone. Let me be. Get away. I got this. No!
Beyond what I used to think was love… what I felt was love – I was dying too.
Gradually, not suddenly, I found the careless truth in that old sad song: “You always hurt the one you love.”
Now I know how love hurts. Anger is the mask I wear. I disguise the grief and loss and fear I keep because you died on me.
My secret is that I’m so scared.
*I dedicate this post to all who grieve the loss of love and are left with fear.