Nr. 25

An unfortunate, yet necessary, sad state occurred last night at around midnight. I was watching a TV-show on Netflix called The Flash. It’s light entertainment which has been an easy digestive distraction from my lows the last weeks. However, no matter how light and popcorn-ish, the show has unexpectedly hit me right to the core of how much I miss my family. I cried so much, uncontrollably so, as the show touches on losing parents and siblings. Being a sci-fi show it contains timetravel and multiple universes, rendering the main character to heartbreakingly meet and even speak to his deceased mother. 

I wondered what I would say to my mother and sister if I were able to see them again. I don’t believe in an afterlife nor am I religious in any way so I know that will not happen though. All the show did was trigger my longing, how excruciatingly much I miss them. This December will mark 20 years since my sister died from suicide, and earlier this year in March marked 12 years since my mother died of cancer. I remember how people told me how strong I was due to a fairly quick “recovery” when I was 17. How reflected and mature I took it. When my mother died people were surprised that I didn’t cry at her funeral. I only cried once during my sister’s funeral as well. I kept this strong stoic mask, although it wasn’t really stoic because I was so open about it. I always answered people’s questions and could recount the events vividly without shedding tears. People often took it as strength and a heightened ability to process grief. I was somewhat convinced of this myself, giving me a false and inflated sense of self worth. I grew confident in my grief which led to a sense of responsibility to help others who had suffered in any way. It opened me to be more tolerant. Not judge people based on the surface, even the worst of us. If people expressed unjustified language to belittle or other extremes, I wanted to understand them. Not condone or easily forgive, but figure out what had led them to said behavior. Equally I wanted to console the victim or people who felt misunderstood...I just wanted to understand everything and everyone in hopes of bringing some clarity to a clouded world. Highly conceited of me in retrospect. Even if my intentions had some merit, it was still almost naively arrogant of me to believe I could somehow change perception on a larger scale without having fully embraced my own grief. I wasn’t strong or mature, I was forced to be, but in reality I think I suppressed my emotions. And they seem to have surfaced now. 

All of this came crumbling down on me as I wept last night, sitting on the floor by the side of my bed. However, I didn’t feel any sign of my low. This was pure sadness for the loss of my family. Moments like these will most likely always stay with me. And I think that is ok. Maybe these last three years have finally allowed me to grieve like I need to. Perhaps I need to feel that sorrow. It’s hard as fuck when it occurs though. All I could think was “I try so hard...I try my best to be ok with this”. I felt pity for myself for a long time. 

I felt alone and fragile, tired and sad. But kept repeating to myself that I will be ok. This will pass soon enough. And it did after an hour or so.

I was able to get back on my feet. I walked outside and sat down at the patio and thought about life and the future, like a textbook clichéd screenplay. I felt calm and ok. I think I sat there until 4am and went back to bed, finally falling asleep around 6am. 

I guess my point about all of this was that I felt glad that I was able to allow myself to be vulnerable without feeling any sign of my low. The lows aren’t gone, but maybe I can sometimes be free of them and grieve without simultaneously fighting off depression at the same time.