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The trauma we've experienced lives in our bones, we will feel it from time to time. I know that, and yet when the grief marrow leaks into my blood stream my intellectual brain fights. There were a couple of triggers this week. I realised that I don't often just feel my grief. Or maybe I do and you readers are like "Uh, dude, you write about it kind of a lot". I don't remember what I write to you, I don't catalog it all. I can't remember exactly what you know about me. Some of you know some things, some of you know other things. None of you know everything.
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In any case, I started feeling the marrow on Monday night. On Tuesday I woke up despondent. I put my mask on as best I could and went to work. On Tuesday evening I learned that a woman I admired, respected and (still) aspire to be like had died. I wondered if my body knew she had passed. On Wednesday I put the mask on. On Thursday I put the mask on.
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It's not a great mask, the one I use to hide my grief. It's translucent, so people see I'm wearing it, and they ask if I'm ok. I say, "Yeah, just have some grief today", and they don't know that I'm teetering on the edge of catatonic.
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I don't bury it. I don't even hide it particularly well. I just distract myself for some hours and then stare broken-hearted into the nothingness. I'm not very good at feeling it.
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That was most of the week. Now I'm going to recover a bit. Here's some random links that have nothing to do with anything:
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