Flashes Of Memory

This grieving thing, it is turning out to be harder and more intense than I expected. 

Once you truly give yourself permission and release the valve, there is an onslaught of memories that flash in front of you during the day. And creep into your sleep at night. 

I wake up when sunlight comes slanting through the blinds. And I have to look around me to see where I am, to orient myself to the present.

I think of that appointment I had but walked away from six days ago. It seems like another time-line, for which I can't retrieve. Six days later, I cannot even imagine going that far. 

I cannot imagine letting these thoughts pass my lips for others to scrawl on their pads of paper. I cannot even bear to entertain the thought.

I go outside to get the mail. And I ask myself: Did I already come out here and get the mail? I go inside and look for it. 

Did I put it somewhere? If I did, where is it? I go outside and check again.

This grief, once allowed to surface, seems to be going way past what I'd allotted for it. It is like something got stuck, a broken record, and it keeps going back and back, over and over. And I'm reliving so much more than just this. 

You've never accomplished anything on this earth. All you've done is take up space...

Yesterday afternoon was a very low point. I don't know why. I was suddenly so shaky and fearful and agitated, that I allowed myself to broach the thought no one wants to entertain: Am I losing my mind? 

How does one lose one's mind? Does it slip away, unnoticed? If so, will it take the memories and flashes of the past with it? Will it bring peace?

What? Did you think you were special?

Or is this grief thing just a slippery slope I clearly wasn't prepared for? For if I have truly felt real grief before, it was merely an audition for this. 

Like labor, once begun, you cannot stop it. No matter how much it hurts, that child is going to work its way out. You are not given a vote. You just have to roll with it until it's over. 

Please tell me it will at some point be over.

Everyone would be better off if you just weren't here.  

The confusion is maddening and something I can't seem to shake.

I only seem to be able to turn off the sounds when I am sewing. But the other day, right outside my sewing window where I get such good light, I watched a drug deal commence. 

My old friend hyper-vigilance kicked in and I was very still and didn't move, so as to remain unnoticed, until they were gone. 

 

No one cares about you. Your children don't care about you. They will become sick of you. They don't want you either.

Flashes of memory, gone before you can even interpret it, shoot darting lights of fireworks inside your head. You close your eyes, but it does not shut them out. They are so bright, and before you can take another breath, they are gone.

 

You're just taking up space in this world.

I check my milk and tell myself: I think I can call it good one more day. I take some fruit for my cereal, then put half of it back. Maybe I can make it last one more day too. Because I don't want to go out there.

 

You are worthless. You are unlovable.

I don't know what happens as each day of this process piles upon another. I'll deal with it when it comes. Like labor, once started, you don't have the ability to stop it. 

We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows. 
- Robert Frost