Assessing the Apocalypse #7
Being Okay
Tuesday marks the four year anniversary of my best friend’s suicide. I will be at work just like I was that same morning, answering similar versions of the questions I was answering then, and I will be sad, but ultimately;
I’m okay.
The lead up to this time of year is tricky. I haven’t quite figured out the mechanics of grief (if there are any) but it feels a bit silly to know that a “heaviness” is set to crescendo over the next few weeks only to dissipate shortly thereafter like a storm cloud who’s said it’s piece.
This is weird to me because I am ostensibly sad about this all the time. Maybe not actively, but there is forever a small percentage of my brain mourning not just Sean but the small collection of people I’ve lost over the last few years. Why then does it being the same time of year make the
sadness spike?
Oh, I guess there’s science for that. Cool.
I don’t mind being down. It isn’t easy but I always make sure to give my emotions their day in court; often to my detriment. It’s the being pretty much okay of it all that’s got my mind churning this morning.
The heart of this discomfort is guilt. I don’t feel like I’m respecting the loss by being okay. I remember how upset I was which is nothing compared to the relatively minor scarring that remains. To that end if we were all expected to stay at the rending garments stage of grief, humanity would come to an end. There’s too much to process.
I know this, I understand this, but guilt seeps in all the same.
I’m not less sad, I’m moving forward. I can so I do. The dead are gone, so at what point does the expression of grief cease being a tribute and become an exercise in self-harm? I dwell on the feeling because it’s the only way I can feel close to them. Happy memories are what I should focus on but they don’t feel as tangible to my heart as the reality of the loss. It’s masochistic, really. I’m sad, but not sad enough because I’m ultimately okay. I hurt myself with bad feelings to make myself no longer okay, even if temporarily. Only then am I fit to grieve.
The problem with this is I’m getting old, I have things to do nor do I have the time or energy to commit to such a regimen. So I’m left with no choice but to be okay.
We hear and read stories of unimaginable loss and wonder how those people got through it. The unsexy truth is they just did.
I give being okay 3 ‘Eh’s out of 5.
Read the last review here!