I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear Josh,

I’m constantly surprised by the number of tears I have left to cry. You’d think I’d be all out by now. It’s funny though, I’ve been less upset about other things in life that should be upsetting me. It’s like all the tears I have left are reserved for you. No tears left to cry for everyone else.

As your mum mentioned yesterday, we’ve been having a harder time than expected. This is something that pops up in our conversations a lot lately, “I had no idea how much harder it’d be”. I thought the same – that the second year would be easier. I thought I’d finally be able to go out with my friends, not happily, but at least I’ll be out. I thought I’d be able to participate in more activities whilst holding you close. I wouldn’t be happy, but at least I’d be trying to live. I didn’t think I’d be worse than ever – cooped up at home, debating if I should leave the house to get food, wondering how long I can stay in bed before I hate myself for it… the list goes on. I thought I’d have no tears left to cry, but evidently, I was wrong about many things.

We study this – grief, trauma, depression – and I should be able to pinpoint what’s wrong and how to feel better at this point, but lately I’ve really been struggling. I’m physically ill now, I caught a cold, and it’s somehow made things worse. I now tell myself I have an excuse for taking a two-hour long nap. I let myself stay in bed longer than necessary and give myself passes to eat whatever I want. You would not approve of this at all, but I think I could have convinced you. “But I’m sick, ‘fast food days’ don’t apply when I’m sick.” You would have said, “Actually, they apply more than ever and we should make it once in three weeks instead, but sure.”

Grief is being so weird these past few days. I’ve been crying more, my skin has been horrible for absolutely no reason, I’ve been feeling this discomfort that only comes from disliking the feeling of your skin on your bones. That’s a new one – I hate the way my skin sits on my bones and I have the urge to scratch it off. I’ve not felt this before, this amount of self-loathing. It’s like my skin is on fire beneath and it’s not itchy but I want to get rid of it. I’m not sure if it’s grief. It could be. Or it could be something else and I’m blaming grief just because it’s near me. But I think it’s grief.  

I’m usually pretty good at making myself feel better (I think). I think I’ve been coping with life’s curveballs pretty well (I think). But in the recent days, I haven’t been able to figure out what would make everything feel better. Good food? Does not work. Read a nice book? Not really working either. Watch a movie? I get bored. Go out? Nice try, I don’t feel like leaving the house. I can’t think of anything to make me feel even slightly better. My usual interests are not making me feel better, and all I want to do is sleep. I hear you, Josh. I know what these are symptoms for. I’m trying not to feel this way, okay? It’s difficult.

I also sometimes worry that I’ll run out of things to write. This was another sadness your mum and I talked about last year. What if we run out of things to write? It would be like losing you again. In my opinion, we’ll just write it again. The grief will always be here. We will always have something to say. We will always miss some part of you. Sure, our stories might be repetitive, but the feelings remain the same. And anyway, who is going to tell us to stop repeating ourselves? If anyone doesn’t want to read, they don’t have to. Writing helps us keep you close, so we will write whatever comes to mind. Honestly, I didn’t prepare this writing you’re reading now. The words just flow (not sure if it’s good writing though).

I miss you very much. It really is getting harder to cope. Let’s hope year three will be better, I guess. I love you more, always, and forever. I can’t wait to see you again.

Love always,
Sha