Journal Entry 9.7.23

What am I trying to do here, in this month before we leave for overseas? I am writing about grief in general. I am exploring the thing I have avoided looking at during the crisis time. Instead of avoiding and ignoring the pain, I am digging in. I am unearthing the soil, shaking out the clots, throwing away the stones, pulling up the weeds and making the soil soft and fertile again, so that whatever comes next, whatever it is, has a fertile place in which to grow. I pull out the snails and slugs, I talk to the earthworms, I pat the soil.

I have been frantic, running away from the enormity, the denseness, the weight of the pain. I have been frantic, trying to find hope quickly, knowing that without hope I will want to die, but hope, like trust accumulates over time and cannot be rush. ‘“Hope” is the thing with feathers…’ I was desperate to have hope after so much anguish and despair. I wanted to find purpose and meaning having had it stolen by all the people in my life. I wanted to come to know what I was like when I wasn’t being told how worthless I am. I rushed. I rushed so that the tidal wave of despair didn’t catch me up. I rush and now I need to slow. One cannot out race despair, despair always catches you.

I made a list of the feelings I have tried to run away from:

Regret

Shame

Guilt

Numbness

Anger

A wish to roll back time

Fear

A desire to feel instead of being numb

A desire to die

Hopelessness

Despair

Anguish

Hatred

Frustration

Depression

Sleeplessness

Fatigue

Boredom

Shock

Denial

Bargaining

Defensiveness

Overwhelmed

Panicked

A trying to regain order

Emptiness

Nothingness