The Alien Blob

There are several theories on the stages of grief but it all seems too contained and well-defined. Although some are shared with the caveat that the stages might not be experienced in order, it still makes me irritated to read them.  I want to have stages.  Stages are neat, tidy, with squared edges.  They have a preamble, start, and ending. This feels more like emotional anarchy.

I found this diagram on line in several places but couldn’t find who to attribute it to.  It is a more apt illustration of grieving than any other I have seen.

The first two weeks I was in shock and numb.  I maintained.  I held it together.  I tried not to make anyone else uncomfortable with my situation and grief.  It’s what I do, what I’ve always done.  I have to fulfill my responsibilities to everyone else. This is a safe role for me.

The heaviness, sadness and crying ebb and flow. The littlest thing can set it to growing like a storm cloud overshadowing everything in it’s path.

Anger has been a strong component that reappears on a regular basis.  It comes out sideways in comments, inappropriate humor and thoughts. My predominant thought when I am going through this is “what is wrong with me?”  I am not typically an angry person.  I have railed at K. for dying and for not being here to finish things right.  I am sometimes angry when people ask me how I am doing or if I am okay (no I am not, there is a hole in my heart). I have sang at the top of my lungs along with Annie Lennox to “Walking on Broken Glass” while driving and pounding in time on the steering wheel.

It’s like I have gone back to some larval state of being. The kind of horror movie green alien blob that keeps stretching and bubbling. Occasionally something hurls itself forward from the inside (cue screechy scary violins) then boomerangs back to a simmer. Right now I’m on simmer.

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