NEWSLETTER
Manic March
Grief, gloom, and grills from ghosts of past
The storm rolled over way into March, as if it didn’t receive the change of calendar update. My grief took turns spinning into a rage, then self-pity and dread. I spent days buried under a pile of questions I couldn’t answer.
When the worst was over, I expected a calm from exhaustion. I knew not to wait for some kind of resolution to help me get back up, but easy wasn’t too much to ask for. Instead, there was more in store — less turbulent now, but unmistakable grief nonetheless. It didn’t go away on its own with time.
Maybe I’d had too much, or maybe it was the books I was escaping into, but I got into a mood about it. I was witnessing myself from outside my body and marveling at how I was ironically sad in spring which didn’t even exist.
At the end of the month, I had a long-awaited weekend getaway planned, and whether I liked it or not, I had to go on. I tried drowning, as pain is a familiar friend, but I couldn’t this time. This one was too harsh. Instead of a place, I can be and down the darkness, it struck my body like lightning.
One day, I pretended that everything is normal — my normal, and booked a salon appointment. I hadn’t had a haircut in over ten months and that was the first item on my to-do list. I got up, showered, and wore my outside clothes as if I was someone else. A person who understands why she is doing what she is doing and bears through everyday things, to an extent.
I didn’t have a good experience, but it was definitely different from lying in bed and contemplating the meaning of life. I was instantly reminded of the severity of my social anxiety, but given my state, I had a chuckle about it.
Briefly returning to my comfort genre of humor, I turned a rant into a listicle and checked another goal off my list. I don’t know about you, but I get really tired of these clickbait articles floating around this platform that offer less value than a worn-out sole. Yet the 3-minute read lures me in.
I figured if you can’t beat them, join them. I mean satire them. When the creativity dries out, I am banking on this as a fallback career option.
As the date neared, I now had a hex looming over my head — travel anxiety. It was around that time that I realized I needed to do better for myself. It’s not something I didn’t already know, but I was so tired of trying, of failing, of spending my days like a zombie that I couldn’t bring myself to act on anything anymore. Even the relatively good days seemed very pointless.
I thought back to earlier this year when I was in a foggy state of mind and desperately wanted to get out. Now that seemed like a real vacation.
Not my usual tactic, but I started doing things as I’d already — at least temporarily fixed my problems. I was determined to not put myself through a trial that was self-created and superficial. I was building a relationship with my grief, which I acknowledged and didn’t want to expel.
I tricked my mind into having an easy time before the trip and barring two days, it actually worked. My mindset prevailed during and after when I was too exhausted to get back to turning my home into normal. It was not bad.
Time away did surprisingly leave me with some perspective, and while it wasn’t affirming or life-changing, the acceptance felt like a crutch I could lean on. If I can get through this — I told myself, there isn’t a future that I need to fear. Yes, it’s bad but it’s livable. It gives me a lot to ponder about.
I am going on without answers and that’s okay. Maybe one day I’ll find one and this period will make sense. Or I’ll just find a darker philosophy.
