Grief (noun): keen mental suffering or distress over
affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.
And then when you do a Google search for the 7 stages of
grief, you get these:
1.
Shock and Denial
2.
Pain and Guilt
3.
Anger and Bargaining
4.
Depression, reflection, and loneliness
5.
The Upward Turn
6.
Reconstruction and Working Through
7.
Acceptance and Hope
When you read what the first stage of grief is, you get
something similar to this: “You will probably react to learning of the loss
with a numbed disbelief. You may deny the reality of the loss at some level, in
order to avoid the pain. Shock provides emotional protection from being
overwhelmed all at once. This may last for weeks.”
I went to my new therapist on Wednesday and told her what
was currently happening in my life that made me come to see her. When I
explained to her the situation with Nan and the overwhelming sense of emotions,
she was shocked. She looked at me and said, “You are very aware. Usually when a
tragedy like this happens, one gets at least a month to feel numb. But you’ve
been just feeling everything.” Yes, yes I have, which is why it was so
important for me to take the step to see a therapist. Essentially, I completely
bypassed stage 1 and went to stage 2, 3, and 4. My therapist actually said it
was unfortunate that I skipped step 1 in some way because I didn’t get a break
from my emotions. But, she did say that in the long run, sometimes feeling
everything from the very beginning makes it easier to move on.
I also have no energy to be social. What I know about myself
is that when tragedy strikes, I want to be left alone. I want to go into my
turtle shell and just be by myself. I spent a good week not really talking to
anyone but my partner and person. I just couldn’t deal with other people’s
emotions, on top of my overflowing ones. I can’t deal when people cry or get
upset, because I have too much pain inside myself. I can’t feel sorry for other
people, because I feel sorry for myself and Nan’s family, which in turn are my
family. I am starting to break out into the social scene, but when you are
exhausted after working and just want to put on your pajamas and call it a day,
it’s hard to be social.
There are days where the pain is so strong that I can’t
move—I can hardly even take a full breath because of all the pain. The second
stage of grief is full and strong in my whole body. “As the shock wears off, it
is replaced with the suffering of unbelievable pain. Although excruciating and
almost unbearable, it is important that you experience the pain fully, and not
hide it, avoid it, or escape from it with alcohol or drugs. You may have guilty
feelings or remorse over things you did or didn’t do with your loved one. Life
feels chaotic and scary.”
I have been saying, ever since this has happened, that my
heart hurts. The other night I had a dream that I had open heart surgery, in
which my heart was replaced with a new one. I’d like to think it was Nan
communicating with me through my dream. Saying what, I am not sure, but it is a
nice thought to have. I haven’t been drinking or doing drugs, in fact I am
doing the complete opposite—I am feeling EVERY THING. To the point where it
makes it impossible to get out of bed, get dressed, eat, or smile sometimes.
Stage 3 hasn’t been too hard on me. But, maybe it’s because
I am not really in it. “Frustration gives way to anger, and you may lash out
and lay unwarranted blame for the death on someone else. You may rail against
fate, questioning ‘Why me?’” I have definitely been getting angry, but not
necessarily at people. I get frustrated easily, I am vulnerable, and crabby
sometimes. I don’t lash out at people, but I do notice that people irritate me
a bit more. Especially people who keep telling me, “I know what you’re going through.”
That is by far the WORST thing you could be telling me right now. Because
honestly, you have NO IDEA WHAT I AM GOING THROUGH. Sure, you may have lost
someone close to you, and that is awful. But you don’t know what I am feeling. You don’t know what is
going through my head. You don’t know
what it’s like to have someone you love and considered your surrogate mom to
have an aneurism pop in their head randomly and kill them instantly. You just
don’t know, so please don’t tell me that.
Stage 4 has been VERY present in my life. “Just when your
friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad
reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not
be “talked out of it” by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is
not helpful to you during this stage of grieving. During this time, you finally
realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate
yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on
memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.” Yep,
like I mentioned earlier, I am isolating myself. I need to. None of my friends
have mentioned the first part of this stage, but I am in a constant period of
sadness and depression. There feels like there is something missing in me now
that Nan is gone. It is hard to look around this beautiful town of mine and
know I will never see her again. I know her spirit will be with me forever, but
it doesn’t take away the pain of knowing that I won’t see that beautiful,
cheery face of hers again. Or hug her. Or hear her beautiful witchy laugh.
It’s all been a new process for me, that at times is so
overwhelming I can’t move. I had to take a day off work last week because I was
completely debilitated with sadness. I sat on my couch the entire day, only
getting up to get water or use the loo. Other than that, I stayed exactly where
I was for at least 10 hours.
I am avoiding large crowds and hanging out with more than 5
people at a time because I get too overwhelmed and have a panic attack. I get
sensory overload REALLY easy at the moment, so I just don’t put myself in a
situation where I will feel that, if I can. I am heading to Phoenix today for a
two day meeting starting tomorrow, where it will be my first time dealing with
a large crowd. There will be at least 50 people there, and that’s a little
horrifying. And exhausting because I am the meeting manager. Of course I don’t
want to tell people to understand why I am a little slow or a little spacey,
because I just don’t want the pity party.
One day at a time. Sometimes one second at a time is all I
am capable of.
