Sometimes, I am caught by an unexpected encounter, and the grief rises within to choke me.
Sometimes, it comes from nowhere, just taking over, washing over me like the heat from an open oven, leaving me burnt and hurting.
In the early morning, drifting in and out of sleep, good memories mingle with pain. It isn't long before I'm driven from my bed. But where do I go?
During the day, there are endless tripwires of familiar items, moments of recognition which used to be moments of joy and anticipation, now pitfalls to be avoided, lest the grief incapacitate me in a sudden rush. How can I move from my chair, knowing that this is there? How can I sit, knowing it will come anyway?
In the evening, all my routines invoke memories. Can I face them one more time?
At night, I know the memories and the grief will find me. Who wants to go to bed when this waits for you?
How can I love the ones I love, knowing that they are not the one I loved? This is the most unfair thing.
My ability to love freely is gone. It is now guarded, fenced in, fearful. I am afraid much of the time.
Sometimes it feels like my skin will burst from the pain. Medication, drugs, alcohol all wear off, leaving me feeling worse than before, yet wishing again for the brief respite they brought. But the increased pain warns me off, and I am left without outside defense against my grief.
I will not go through the rest of my life numb and chemically diminished. But I don't think I will ever again be who I was.