So, as you may or may not have noticed, I gave up on the 100 stories thing. Life got in the way and made it very difficult. Plus, I realized that I was writing for therapy, but it wasn’t really working. I’ve turned my attention to art for the time being. But now I’ll sit and write out a blog post.
In a previous post, I talked about my grandfather and his passing. For the longest time I thought I was okay. In fact, I started to worry because I wasn’t sad anymore. I thought, surely there is something wrong with me. I still miss him, mind you. But I wasn’t sad. As I analyzed everything further, I realized it wasn’t that I didn’t feel anything, it was that I had somehow worked myself into a huge state of denial. Further proof that the stages of grief are not limited to six, and they don’t happen in any particular order. Nor do they happen quickly.
A few months before his passing, he left a voicemail. My mom has been checking it regularly and resaving it, but I hadn’t listened to it. A few nights ago, I finally did, and it started the grieving process all over again. For different reasons this time. In my mind, I remember his voice. It was strong and full of joy, full of life. When I remember him, that’s what I remember. The man on the phone didn’t sound like the voice I remembered. It sounded frail. It made me really sad.
I had a dream about him, about a week ago. I’ve been reading this book series called the Dresden Files. There’s a character in the book named Michael. He’s a Knight of the Cross, and fights supernatural bad guys with a sword made from one of the nails used during the Crucifixion. He’s really cool. When I really get into a series, it is not uncommon for my dreams to become themed with said series. So it wasn’t a surprise when I started dreaming about the book. Except instead of Michael, I see my grandfather. He was playing the role of Michael. It was really awesome. I don’t know if it was a “message from the other side” or what, but it still made me happy.
I’m sad for other reasons. October used to be a month I loved so dearly, but now it is a month I dread. I have never been so happy for a month to be over in my life. Now I’m just waiting for the rest of the year. Holidays are difficult to think about. They’ve always been a little hard, but this year I feel they’ll be almost unbearable. I don’t feel like putting on a happy face and pretending everything is okay, knowing that when I leave the family function it’ll be whispers and gossip. I am not happy, and I’m tired of pretending that I am for everyone elses’ sake.
In all of this, I’ve also come to realize that there are some days that I just don’t want to interact with anyone. The idea of having to talk to people through some medium or another makes my skin crawl. A physical touch is like an electric shock wave through me, and it hurts. But I can’t yell “DON’T TOUCH ME” or “DON’T TALK TO ME.” Especially at my job. My boss tried to give me the phone to call someone, and I panicked.
Some days are like that. Other days I’m fine. I will always and forever hate calling people, but sometimes I can do it. Sometimes I just can’t. I hate having to admit that.
I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how to feel.
I just don’t know.