I had a bad afternoon yesterday with moments of being overwhelmed, I guess.
I continue to be exhausted from riding the roller coaster. I tend to crash, then pull myself together because I have no choice. I have things I MUST accomplish which can be a blessing and a curse. It's impossible for me to live in any place for very long. The grieving process for me is more about shifting from one stage to the other in the moment--particularly denial-sadness-acceptance.
“Acceptance?” I haven't really figured that one out. Yes, I accept death, but I also accept life. In other words, I think more about George living than dying. Death is transient but life is eternal even if it’s just a memory. So I just don't dwell on George not coming home, for example, although I've grown to ”accept” that reality. With or without tears, I can easily talk about George in the past as a continuation of living. Acceptance doesn't mean pretending George never existed--for me at least.
I've only visited "anger" on occasion. I REFUSE to stay angry for any more than a “hot minute." We are ALL doing the very best that we can. NOBODY wants this outcome--absolutely no one--not even God and/or The Universe. So anger is pointless. And I refuse to be bitter by second-guessing, blaming, and criticizing.
Finally, there’s my old nemesis Depression. I don't know if it's the Zoloft keeping me from ruminating. Or perhaps I had such a bad experience with depression, I simply WON'T allow myself to be depressed. I am consumed with inconsolable grief, complete with heartbreak, sadness, and mourning-- definitely. Depressed? I REFUSE to go there.
In certain ways, to describe grieving as a "process" is a by-product of solitude. Most of us don't have that luxury except in quiet moments of despair:
"Grief is the natural response when someone you love is torn from your life. It is a natural process: a process of the heart being smashed and broken open, of reality shifting and hurling in place. It cares nothing for order or stages.
The truth is, you can’t force an order on pain. You can’t make it tidy or predictable. The stages of grief are a net thrown over a fogbank — they help neither to define nor contain," "The Five Stages of Grief and Other Lies That Don't Help Anyone, " Megan Devine.
I continue to be exhausted from riding the roller coaster. I tend to crash, then pull myself together because I have no choice. I have things I MUST accomplish which can be a blessing and a curse. It's impossible for me to live in any place for very long. The grieving process for me is more about shifting from one stage to the other in the moment--particularly denial-sadness-acceptance.
“Acceptance?” I haven't really figured that one out. Yes, I accept death, but I also accept life. In other words, I think more about George living than dying. Death is transient but life is eternal even if it’s just a memory. So I just don't dwell on George not coming home, for example, although I've grown to ”accept” that reality. With or without tears, I can easily talk about George in the past as a continuation of living. Acceptance doesn't mean pretending George never existed--for me at least.
I've only visited "anger" on occasion. I REFUSE to stay angry for any more than a “hot minute." We are ALL doing the very best that we can. NOBODY wants this outcome--absolutely no one--not even God and/or The Universe. So anger is pointless. And I refuse to be bitter by second-guessing, blaming, and criticizing.
Finally, there’s my old nemesis Depression. I don't know if it's the Zoloft keeping me from ruminating. Or perhaps I had such a bad experience with depression, I simply WON'T allow myself to be depressed. I am consumed with inconsolable grief, complete with heartbreak, sadness, and mourning-- definitely. Depressed? I REFUSE to go there.
In certain ways, to describe grieving as a "process" is a by-product of solitude. Most of us don't have that luxury except in quiet moments of despair:
"Grief is the natural response when someone you love is torn from your life. It is a natural process: a process of the heart being smashed and broken open, of reality shifting and hurling in place. It cares nothing for order or stages.
The truth is, you can’t force an order on pain. You can’t make it tidy or predictable. The stages of grief are a net thrown over a fogbank — they help neither to define nor contain," "The Five Stages of Grief and Other Lies That Don't Help Anyone, " Megan Devine.
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