My Writer’s Block: Silently Grieving & Dealing With Loss

My Writer’s Block: Silently Grieving & Dealing With Loss
I used to know how to cope with my inability to concentrate and find a way back to my work mode. I’d wander around the city until my body gets aligned with its buzzing rhythm. I’d let its electricity run through my veins – a river of life that would flow right within and set my mind on fire. Then I’d fine a cozy café, snuggle in the corner with headphones in my ears writing down my soul & expressing all that I feel.

I have my good & bad days. Days when inspiration is flowing out of me the moment my eyes splurge on daylight… and others when my mind fails to turn its messy thoughts into flawless texts.

Life should be more than following patterns, more than spending day-in, day-out earning money to provide and secure our families. More than dedicating all those hours in front of the mirror trying to satisfy the greedy needs of the narcissist within . Life is more than that. It should be.
But then…is it!?

Lately, I’ve been slowly running out of things that support that belief, ideas that trigger the urge to keep exploring and making sense of life to get one day to that place of  ‘unconditional happiness’.

Death has always terrified me, which I guess elucidates my great need to justify the short amount of time we’ve been granted to live. And with every passing day I find myself increasingly more anxious due to my fruitless attempts to dig out an adequate answer to why we’ve been given at all the chance to exist.

But one thing is to fear ‘death’ and another to have an eye contact with it.

It’s been more than two months since the news echoed in my head. In no time the ‘strong me’ shrunk to the size of a newborn sparrow whose world’s as big as the size of its nest.

At that point I couldn’t have possible put my head around the fact that I’d never hear her voice. And, gosh, I had so much more to hear. Our ‘life theories’ were left on hold and all we needed was time to finish them of.

I was hoping that when I see her she’d feel safe enough to open up again and let me dive into her soul. We both had secrets and we had let each other be their respective keepers.

When she dropped me off at the airport she pierced me with her big green eyes.
Tears were rolling out of mine.
‘Go conquer the world!’ she said, ‘Show’em watch you got. And hello! Never dare cry for me again’.
She grinned at me, before she gave me a hug goodbye and ran towards her car.

And here I’m today, almost a year after she gave me that hug, and more than two months since our conversations have taken the shape of messy incoherent monologues in my head. I talk to her every day and I imagine what she’d say back. I ask her questions and imagine the sharp & witty answers she’d be the only one to give.

When Philip and I went to Bulgaria, he was my greatest distraction. When we were walking down the streets that we more of a door to the past, I let myself see the surroundings as if, like Philip, I was wandering around that city for the first time in my life. And rather than allowing the past to painfully munch on my heart, Philip became my shield that kept me stay present and ensured that I wouldn’t get overawed by the past.

I often burst into tears.
And then all of a sudden my eyes dry out.
A sense of shock and disbelief displaces the sadness, forbidding me to accept the  truth.

I’ve read plenty of articles. In all them they give you this 5 step process of dealing with loss:

Denial and isolation
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance

I’m far from ready to let go and let her image turn into a memory, as for what it’s worth – she’s still here, planning to surprise me with a cheeky call and fill me in on all that’s been going on.

Am I denying the past? Am I refusing to accept her decision?
Yes.
But then the biggest trouble with dealing with loss is ‘self-pity’ – the inability to see and believe that I’d eventually be able to move on. To live my life with that huge empty hole and accept that that’s how it’s gonna be from now on.
I keep asking questions, blaming myself and wondering whether the past could have been changed.
Pretty self-centred thoughts if you ask me. Thoughts that can be no longer prolonged. That’s not about me. It’s about her and that’s how it should be.

And then I can’t help but remember the warmth of her eyes and the firmness of her voice ‘Never dare cry for me – Ever’.
Sympathy – she saw as offending.
As something rather condescending.
And you know?
To stop crying means to keep denying the truth & let her be here, let her be now & forever alive.
A.