I’ve mentioned before that I am swamped with melancholy in this month and next. The anniversary of my dad’s death and the necessity of sharing birthdays of children with my ex and all the tearing up of my insides at the still new change of holiday appearances, all that? Oh god, the feeling of loss is so damn pervasive, its the chill in my toes of winter. It swamps me, and I am still working on it, but am spending most of my time just looking forward to New Year’s Day, the day everything is finished and everything can begin.
When I say ‘most of my time’ that is mostly a lie. I’m busy, we’re all busy and I don’t necessarily have the time to focus on my inner workings all day. But, BUT, I am aware of a somewhat constant undercurrent of sadness.
So. When a friend told me about a writing group that focused on grief, it did not feel like a horrorshow. It felt like a possibility, a way to purge myself of this feeling, or at least to acknowledge it at a deeper level than just in type, here.
It was tough. I didn’t want to. and sometimes, knowing the depths of loss that people can be in, it can make my grieving of a father, and a man I thought I knew, or the girl i was when i believed in people, feel somehow less significant. When someone is in the rawness of it, and you see, remember and don’t feel it anymore? awe inspiring how human we all are. and how much a part of human life loss and grief are.
I spend a lot of time in shallow waters, and it is much safer there. but the truth isn’t there, and when i woke up this morning (daylight savings be damned) I felt relieved. Somehow the writing of it has released some of it for me today. I’ll take it, even if its temporary.
so thats where i’m at. day 8 of this month of constant writing. So far so good.
the work is ongoing.