Insomnia. First, you are kept awake by reliving the
nightmare that caused your grief over and over.
Once this softens, you are tormented by the horror of living your future
without your loved one. Visions of the
future you never thought could exist flash before your eyes and shake you out
of your sleep.
Extreme exhaustion. The insomnia leads to exhaustion that is so
potent, it feels like you are living in an alternate reality. People around you are perky and energetic,
and your mind and body are left lethargic and heavy. It takes you longer to process sentences and
to search your own brain for words. You also have black holes in your mind and memory.
Numbness. After the early days, which are full of howling
and fits of sobbing, you are left numb. There
are no feelings to feel except the one of complete desolation. To a person smiling right in front of you –
you are empty. To someone’s perky voice
on the other end of the phone – you are hollow.
You are glazed and float through daily tasks. You can’t read magazines or watch tv. None of it matters. You are paralyzed and doing one simple task
is a huge accomplishment: sending one email, starting the dishwasher, or making
one phone call.
Raging headaches. They are debilitating and the worst headaches
of your life. They throb and keep you
bedridden. They keep you in the
darkness, even though it is time to start finding a little light. There is no medicine that will help, the only
option is to open the door and succumb to your grief.
Fits of rage. Rage is an emotion, but the rage you experience
after loss is so intense it must be listed as a physical stage. You are so vehemently full of rage that you
want to throw something or yell. Even
among the gentlest, an intense rage bubbles to the surface.
Deflation. You feel deflated by your grief. Sometimes, you just surrender. It’s hard to be strong all the time – no one
can be. Your posture slumps a little bit
and you have to remember to walk your new path of life standing up tall with
your head up. This doesn’t come naturally;
you have to be extremely conscious of doing so.
Physical triumph. After you’ve been through it all – the insomnia,
the numbness, and then the rage – you begin to realize this is your new
reality. No matter how much you hate it
and your frantic desire to have the past back, you can’t. This is your reality. It will never change. Because you can’t change this, you need to
control something. Your body.
You’ll hike a mountain. You’ll
run a marathon. You’ll do a triathlon. You’ll do it for your loved one, or even “with”
your loved one. You need something to
cling on to, or else you plummet back to the first stage of physical grief.
I’m not sure what comes next. I bounce back and forth between deflation and
physical triumph. I have days where I
feel like I want to wave a white surrender flag. I feel defeated and suffocated by it
all. I have other days where I can hang
onto physical challenges and push myself in a way I never thought was
possible. These challenges give me
something to cling on to and keep me treading above water.
I feel like I’m walking on a path that is
covered in fog ahead of me. I don’t know
what is next, but it is part of this new road.
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