I grieve, but not because of death

Is it possible to grieve without death?

To grieve is to mourn a loss. A loss so great that it hurts every day.

Today, after having cried so hard last night before bed that my blood vessels burst in my face, and after having cried again this morning after pushing myself to go running in the woods (the only thing that makes me feel like I’m moving forward) I talked to myself about what I am grieving over.

I listed all of the things I am mourning – and in most cases they are not losses in themselves. They are a grief for what could have been; not what once was. If you catch my drift.

I tried to give myself therapy, by asking that same little girl inside of me, the one so humiliated, and that same woman that I was ten years ago, the one so degraded from then up till this very day, to feel comforted because I was here. The older me, the learned me, the experienced and knowledgeable me. I’m here, and I’m proud of me.

But that only works to some degree. I’m a writer. That’s what I did for work, that’s what I have done since I was a child. Dear reader, I CANNOT WRITE.

I spend my days eating too much, watching films and TV. And spending money I don’t have. The only things I do of any significance towards my supposed recovery are running and swimming. I guess that’s something. Some of the time I am okay, most of the time I present to my family and friends as okay. But I am not.

Yet, I know that doing nothing and spending time at home, after quitting my job, is supposed to be helping me get over my grief. So that I can live some sort of life.

But I don’t seem to be healing. Or maybe I am, and I just don’t know it.

The fact remains I am grieving now, more than I have ever grieved since I was a child.

And the only death involved in this griefpexels-photo-302804.jpeg will surely be mine.

 

I grieve for my life – Living with anxiety

Two days ago, I cried so much it was like my face was going to explode.

I get burst blood vessels in my cheeks when I cry hard, and I can’t help it.

I get so sad sometimes that I can’t see the wood for the trees.

I spoke to a couple of friends and they both told me to get help. I told one of them how I want to… well, die.

The problem with help is; in my opinion, it’s not forthcoming. There is no help because no seperate being can help.

For instance, you were born into this world alone and you will die alone. Some say we were born with two angels, one good and one bad. One who sits on the right shoulder, and one on the left. But who is it who has to go through the stages of grief every single day? It is I. Not the angels.

I grieve for my life, for my past, my present and my future.

Yes, I suffer greatly in that my anxiety is so debilitating, that there are certain things I cannot do; that seem doable to those without anxiety.

Today, I felt a wave of the clouds of fear and doubt as I watched the television to take my mind off of things. How can such a simple act evoke such strong feeling? Because, my anxiety is me, and I am my anxiety.

I grieve till the tiny blood vessels in my face burst. Till my eyes hurt.

Yes, I grieve for my life. Because it was something I lost the moment my anxiety became a part of me.

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