“In a crowd unfamiliar
I just wanna touch a familiar face
And make friends at the parties I’ve feared
The likes of an age
To be wanted with truth
And make formidable love
See light in myself
That I see inside everyone else I know”
Grief is a cunt.
It rears its ugly head at the most inopportune times, and then it lingers. Everything you thought you knew is shadowed with doubt. Your new best friend slowly burns your insides out until you can’t take it anymore.
But I’ve had enough.
I’m done. I’m done with feeling like shit. Angry all of the time. Upset all of the time. Surely there’s more to my life. Surely it won’t always be like this.
But right now, I can’t see a way out.
My grief consumes me. It eats away at me every fucking day. If only it could eat away the food and booze I consume to numb it. But grief is sneaky. It will take what it wants. And usually, that’s your heart or your sanity. My heart is broken. I feel like my sanity has gone. I long for a time when I felt centered but when was that? I don’t remember ever feeling centered and that makes me feel sad.
I have always longed for a childhood that made me feel safe. But I didn’t have that, in fact, it was far from that. I spent my childhood keeping watch on my mother. That was my choice but as a kid who adored their mother, what other choice could I have made? My every decision was about her. What made her happy, what made her feel safe? What would keep my dad happy so he wouldn’t attack her? But now, I feel as though I’m constantly ripping the Band-Aid off my grief, only to replace it with another wound. And it hurts, every fucking time.
I’m damaged.
I truly believe this. I have said this to my long-time psychologist so many times, and every time I say it, she cuts me down. She likes to think that I’m making massive headways through my childhood trauma. But I think I’m in the same head space.
Lost. Alone. Estranged.
It would be nice to think the same as her but I don’t. Every new struggle and every new heartache brings me back to the start. I haven’t learned. I haven’t changed. I’m the same old Aisha that uses substances and the shutdown mode to cope.
But I’m so tired of being like this.
As Gang of Youths so aptly say, “To be wanted with truth, and make formidable love, see light in myself that I see inside everyone else I know.” I have never connected with a lyric so much before in my life. In my 48 years of living, I have never felt like I belonged in this world. NEVER. I watch people, my friends, and people at work, and they connect and do life. Me, I pretend. I pretend I am okay, that my life is all good. That I’m confident and in control.
But I’m not.
I am melting into an abyss that I can’t escape. I don’t know how to pull myself out of it. It scares me. It’s dark. It’s haunting. It tells me I’m no good. And I believe it.
All I want right now is to talk to my mum. But I can’t, and that kills me more than anything. Her voice was one of reason, and I miss that terribly.
I miss you, mum.
I’m a hot mess.
A good friend said to me recently, “Hot mess is par for the course. You’re allowed to be a raging messy mass of fury and pain and tears. Grief is sacred and primal process. You gotta give into to it.” Thank you Miki, no one has ever understood my ongoing grief better than you. But I can’t help but wonder if I’m going to come out the other end a better version of myself, or one that is more damaged.
I’m scared.
I’m vulnerable.
I’m lost and alone.