Misery Loves Company

About a month ago I was frustrated that many of Blake's friends seemed to be moving on. I wrote in the post, "What Happens When Others Move On," that initially this made me angry. At the time, it seemed like it was so easy for everyone else to go back to their lives like nothing had happened. Why was this so much harder for me? I watched the profile pictures change back and the flood of stories start to trickle out until they stopped entirely. All the while I was frozen in time. Having nightly hour-long conversations with Blake's mom, reliving every moment, and crying our hearts out. 

But who was I to judge his friends? Maybe they were going about things the right way and I was the one not allowing myself to heal. I stopped being mad at them and instead chose to focus on myself and my own grieving process. They were doing whatever they needed to do to feel better and I needed to do the same.

The only thing that made me feel better, however, was to surround myself with thoughts of Blake. Whether it was researching addiction, seeking guidance about grief, or reminiscing about memories of us happy and in love, it was all about him. Was this bordering on obsession? I decided that what I was doing was ok and clearly what I needed, but I still felt weird about how it might look to other people.

So I monitored myself. I tried to pull back on sharing the entirety of what I was thinking and only truly confided in my blog. I figured by putting it all here, I could confine my thoughts to one space. My thoughts here could either be explored or ignored by others, depending on whether or not they wanted to see it.

It felt incredible to have an outlet to get all of my feelings out, but it started to feel like I was talking at people instead of creating a dialogue with them. At a certain point, I thought that through this blog I was writing the things that people were secretly feeling too, but didn't know how or were afraid to express. That in a way, this was for all of us, not just me. But as weeks passed by and people seemed completely reintegrated back into their lives, I figured I might be alone in all of these thoughts. I had to remind myself that this was ok, because this blog was supposed to be just for me. 

But seemingly out of no where, about a week ago some of Blake's closest friends started writing on his wall again. It started out with one, then a couple days later another, and then another, and another. Although every message was heartfelt and sweet, one of his very best friends wrote something that made me take a step back and think. He wrote:                          

I immediately felt a strange rush of comfort reading that he was clearly still upset. I had to stop myself. Was I that awful of a person to actually be excited that someone else seemed just as miserable as me? How could knowing that someone else is suffering possibly make me feel better?

I realize I'm not a horrible person for having these thoughts. The saying "misery loves company" is a saying for a reason. When you're feeling so alone in your pain and desperation, it is nice to know that someone else is down there at rock bottom with you. But do I actually want someone to sit and mull over the same hurt that I carry with me all the time? Of course not. Do I even want that for myself? No.

I'm taking away three main things from this:

1. People show grief in all different ways. Just because someone isn't posting memories on Facebook or putting up pictures, doesn't mean they aren't still hurting. 
2. It feels good to know you aren't alone in your feelings of grief, but it's important not to use this as an opportunity to compound the hurt and feed off of each other in a negative way. Instead, you can use these shared thoughts as a way to support each other and move forward. Maybe misery loves company because only company can truly empathize and help pull her up. 
3. Although I have to chosen to surround myself with Blake and others have chosen to try to suppress the pain, both options have positives and consequences. While my way leaves me frozen in time, the other way bottles up feelings that eventually will burst out. Maybe all of us could benefit from trying to come a little more towards the middle- I know I could.