a taunting by grief

An otherwise great night ruined by grief! A little bastard, with inconvenient timing.

You’re enjoying a vodka cranberry with friends, surrounded by them, when all of a sudden BAM! The doors fling open, and grief, dressed in a dapper suit and devastating grin, flounces through, skipping his way over to you.

He taps you under the chin and grins. He opens his jacket to unveil his other helpers, the people that make grief the fine entity he is — sadness, frustration, confusion, indignation, despair, and FEAR!!

fear has also come to play, and he is slamming you now into your own cubicle from hell.

In this isolated box, you cower, unable to talk to any of your friends, utterly alone in your sorrow. sadness, frustration, confusion, indignation, despair dance around and visit you on occasion, throwing you bones that you want to avoid.

In this isolated box, you peek your head back out on occasion to live a normal life, then resignedly bring it back in when you realize your smile is fake as fuck and you are not fine.

You are four drinks in, yes, but you are not “fine.” No one is “fine” after their best friend of all time dies, for no seeming good reason, less than a month prior, and everyone affected is left to drown in their own inability to get closure.

And beneath all of its siblings, desire comes out to play. desire is a more morbid little fellow, but she represents the freedom and release. You don’t want to be the bitch slave to grief forever, and desire overtakes you instead. desire could make you her slave. desire represents everything good left in the world, and your hopes that aren’t totally shattered by the continuance of uncomfortably trying to accept your friend is GONE!!

You hug desire tightly, wail, beg for her to do something, to help you find love again, to find hope again, to find true intimacy brought through being understood by a man who had your back for 8 years, or at the very least, to give you the means to not fuck up everything good you have now, that you desire —

The isolation won’t end. So you walk around in the rain, get caught in it, think of the good times and the changes coming and mourn and mope but then get up again and try to make the most out of life.

It starts with taking a shower to wash away the rain, and it ends with calling your friend to try to bring some clarity. Some marginally comes.

Now, you just wait for the next day to come, trying to strategize as you drift into sleep how to better combat grief’s temptations again.

grief. The only entity scarier than death itself.


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