I Swear You Will Be Fine

A few posts ago, I wrote about the endless cycle I’ve found myself in – the “busy myself until I break” cycle – to stay distracted. Today, I’m writing about the crash. I can feel it coming soon, so I thought I’d write about it, in case anyone else senses it too. I don’t know if the cycle and crash are unique to those grieving, it might not be. I think those battling mental health struggles might relate as well.

I felt it coming a few days ago. Usually, I rarely procrastinate. I am quite efficient at doing what needs to be done and hardly ever feel stressed (that was before grief). After getting acquainted with grief, I had to adjust – everything began requiring more effort. I still don’t procrastinate much, but I find myself struggling to motivate myself, to begin my assignments, and I feel much more stressed than before.

As you might recall, I’ve piled project after project onto my never-ending to-do list – a coping mechanism, I believe. And now, the crash has returned to remind me that I have little time and much to do. The crash peeks into my house, built from new responsibilities and commitments that ultimately spell “coping” if you look close enough. The crash pops by and says, “Hello. It looks like you almost forgot about me. Nice try.”

And then it comes. It crashes through all the rules I’ve so carefully constructed: “Sleep before 12 a.m.”, “Cry only when you’re in your room, alone”, “Finish your entire assignment today”. The crash brings waves of emotion I’ve worked so hard to suppress. They charge at me all at once, probably upset I’ve neglected them longer than I should have.

During the crash, I cry. I sit and wonder why this has happened. I imagine what could have been. I do all the things I should have been doing instead of hiding behind my tall pile of unending projects and interminable to-do list. I hardly remember the “during” – it’s usually the before and after that haunt my mind.

After the crash, it’s almost like nothing happened. I get up, fix my house again, and say, “I’ll see you again”, as the crash slowly slips out. If I didn’t know any better, I might have fooled myself into thinking the crash and grief are separate entities. But the crash never leaves me the same. I’m left with a few scratches, bruises, a little less light in my eyes. I get tired. I get sad. I get lonely. Grief does that, doesn’t it? It makes you feel so alone in this world.

But in the silence that follows – one only I know, from the familiarity of being alone – I rebuild my house around the cracks of my sorrow. Grief is woven in each pillar. My house keeps on shifting, creaking from the weight of unrealized dreams.

And I wait, and anticipate, the day that it all ends.

Seeing you in my dreams help though. I hope you visit me and your family a bit more. I can’t wait to see you again. I love you more, always, and forever.

Love always,
Sha