The dependence of humanity
I'm writing you with the ink of hypocrisy.
As people, we are so dependent on so much. I don't understand it.
They say that the more you heal, the more you lack empathy for those struggling with what you've overcome.
Over time, I'm realising how true that is.
Death and grief often go hand-in-hand. They're a couple as old as time; the very first ethically non-monogamous relationship we experience, I would think.
When there is death, there is often grief. But, sometimes, there is grief without death.
I think grieving that which is still alive is a wholly different experience. I think it leaves the door open for hope for far too long. Whether or not that hope becomes delusion is a completely different tale.
When there is death, I think many oscillate between bargaining and denial for quite some time.
Having grieved the living more than the dead, I realise the potency of this bargaining and denial.
Where I am now, I see the reason much more clearly - at least for myself.
If I were better, if I did this right - I'll do anything. These are words that echoed within me for far too long. Words stemming from grief and aimed at a god I no longer believe in. In the same breath, these words stemmed from grief, aimed at a father whose approval I no longer seek.
Interesting how experiencing grief over death and grief over the living are so similar, yet so different.
I don't understand why we are so afflicted when it comes to death. I think I used to understand how I was expected to be afflicted, but not _why_.
When I hear of people who were never the same after a death, who couldn't pick themselves up, it confuses and irritates me.
They died. It's not a surprise. Life is, effectively, a drawn out death sentence. It is the end we must all meet. Instead of being overjoyed by this, we fear it. I don't understand. We cry over it. We grieve and become incapacitated. Why?
I've heard of people who never stopped grieving and couldn't become themselves again after losing a loved one. I find it ridiculous. Love shouldn't come at the cost of losing yourself. Yes, it is the pain of death when someone we love and have become so aligned with no longer exists. But the notion that this effectively ends those who are still alive is ludicrous.
Perhaps I sound heartless, and maybe I truly don't understand death and grief. Neither are the enemy - they are our first companions. They are unavoidable. So, why are they so paralysing?
Imagine losing yourself so much that you can't function unless there is another.
I don't need to imagine it. I've survived the enmeshment of a dysfunctional family.
Perhaps that is my flaw? I grieve periodically, and hope still. I hope not because I think if I were better it would be different. I hope because I know I was never good enough for them. But I've always been good enough. I've always been enough. I've always been worthy and existed with inherent worth.
People try and chip that away from you, over and over. And then death happens. And in death, we lie.
They were such an amazing person, they were so loving, they were my strength and my rock.
We decide to idolise the person because we shouldn't speak ill of the dead.
When I die, I hope you tell the truth - if you're inclined to speak on my death, that is.
I wasn't always a ray of sunshine, I didn't always care, I didnt always light up a room. Some of these things may be true, but that's not who I am in totality.
Sometimes, my words drip with vengeance. Sometimes, my heart is black with rage.
Sometimes, I am a monster.
I love you more than anything in this world, Friend. And if you are to die first, I will once again feel what it is to have your soul obliterated with reckless abandon.
I will cry, and scream; I will beg and plead for just one more moment. One more hug, one more conversation. Perhaps a kiss? But the begging and pleading, the bargaining and anger will be in vain. I'll never have you back, not even for a moment.
What won't happen, is me collapsing into myself so fully that I, the living, no longer exist. My ability to live and thrive isn't dependent on your living. It's dependent on mine.
So, Dear Friend, I must apologise in advance.
If you are the first to go, I will continue to live after my crumbling. I'll rebuild; my tears the water, the heaviness of grief the cement, the pain the dirt.
I can't wallow in emptiness over death. I've done it before. It's silly to take death as a personal slight.
Why are we surprised? We knew this would happen.
Maybe not how or when, but we knew.
Perhaps there are some whose only cutting experience would be the death of someone they love. If that be the case, then my irritation will stick, but my heart will sing.
Your ultimate pain is because you loved - fully and deeply.
Alas, the world isn't always so kind. There are worse things than death. Pawpaw, survival, and the patriarchy, to name a few.
I have no right to judge what others feel. My emotions are my own, and their emotions are theirs alone.
It's just so disappointing to witness. It's as though we must only become that loss, that suffering, to prove love. We must only become that loss, that suffering, because we lost ourselves completely in another person.
I think it distasteful. People are not incubators, despite what some legislations may want you to believe.
I'm not talking about children, I'm talking about adults. A child experiencing loss - may the gods be with that child in comfort and safety. It is an awful thing to experience, regardless of age.
It's the adults I'm talking about, though.
We're grown, yet so many of us, when another dies, it is as though we cease to exist. How? You're a whole, independent person.
I know it's a lot more complicated than that. I truly do.
Maybe it's stagnation. Maybe we are so petrified of accepting this life-altering change that we can only stagnate?
It's not the grief that is pitiful, mind you. It's the inability to become oneself again that's pitiful.
Life goes on, whether we like it or not. I have contempt for those who are incapable of carrying on with their lives.
Perhaps, this stems from my own mother wound. Poison water - that's what happens when it stops moving.
That's what happened to my mother. She sits in poison and rot - still fully alive, because she is incapable of being her own person.
That poison and rot doesn't stay contained, either. It spills out, all over, and infects everything. It infected me.
For a lot time, I sat in my own stagnation, my own poison, my own rot. I was but a child, and I sat until near 25 years later.
I spent my time from birth to my late twenties oscillating between the 5 stages of grief. Well, 4 of them. Acceptance was where the door was, where I had to walk through to become. I didn't know this at the time. Only now, in my thirties, do I understand. Hindsight, and all of that.
I was but a child when it started. Three decades later, and I now understand. Thing is, I didn't know it was grief. Yes, people died, but that seemed normal. It seemed par for the course.
I was grieving the living - grieving my life. What did I, a child, do that was so bad? Why was I so bad? Everyone else seemed to be loved.
It wasn't me - the damage emotionally immature and emotionally unavailable parents cause is something I've had to ponder and heal from for years.
Perhaps, that is the root of my contempt for people who completely cease to exist after the death of a loved one. Perhaps, having had to hold my own grief, alone, even when I didn't know what it was, is the source of my irritation in others.
It's not to say people shouldn't grieve. We should. Grief is as much a part of life as love. Death is as much a part of life as living.
I'll ponder it for years to come, Friend.
Why does one death evoke more than one demise?
Grief is not the problem. It's the stagnation. Grieve as much as you need, for as long as you need to, but keep on moving. Keep on living until your heart stops.
Our demise over someone else's death isn't proof of love. It's proof of not having a self independent of the dead.
That, Dear Friend, is the saddest part of all.
