What Not Writing Means

On my drive back from Homecoming weekend at USC, I realized that I haven't written a post in four days. Although this may not seem like a big deal, it's the longest I've gone without writing since I started my blog at the end of June. As I drove, I began thinking about what this four day gap meant. I ping ponged between believing it was a good sign and a bad one:

Maybe I was finally embracing normal life?

Maybe I wasn't respecting my grief? 

Maybe I was just busy?

Maybe I was just bottling things up?

Back and forth,

back and forth. 

I was doing it again: over analyzing my way into a corner. Instead of trying to pick apart everything I did or didn't do, said or didn't say, I finally switched my focus onto how I felt. How did these last four days without writing feel for me?

Calm.

During my drive home I was so focused on what not writing said about me and my grieving process that I blocked myself from a very simple answer. Maybe I didn't write because I didn't need to. Once I identified that I felt calm this whole weekend, it made perfect sense to me why I didn't feel the need to write any blog entries. 

In the future, I know there will be days when I'll need to write. On those difficult days I might detach, continuously creating poems and prose inside of my head. But today reminded me that there will also be days when I'm so caught up with life that I'll only have time to share private moments inside of my heart with Blake. Neither type of day is better. Neither means I'm any less respectful to Blake or less respectful to myself and moving forward.

At this point, I know I'm the best judge of what I need and what I don't. The more I trust in my ability to cope with Blake's death, the more confidence I'll have in the decisions I make for myself. If I can build that internal confidence and trust, I'm going to be ok. I don't know when or how, but I'm positive that I will be.

Bargaining Each Morning

Most mornings I wake up feeling empty, hollow, defeated. You'd think that by now these feelings wouldn't come as such a shock anymore, but every time they hit me with excruciating force. Like a stack of weights, each negative emotion is piled onto my yielding chest. You're lonely. You're desolate. You're devastated. You're lost. The force of such a load pins me down. How can I lift my body from this bed? How can I get up when I'm battling against the weight of the world?

Every morning I am faced with a choice: do I give in to these feelings or do I fight against them? I would like to boast about my bravery and say I choose to battle with honor. That I find the strength within me to grasp onto these bricks of oppressing emotions and throw them off of my chest. That it is my conscious decision to stop them from holding me back, weighing me down, crushing my spirit. But I am not built with such admirable courage. I am not that brave.

Instead, I get myself up by bargaining. I talk to these bricks. I tell them that if they allow me to get up, fulfill my daily obligations, I will let them stay in my heart. I will carry them around with me if they can shrink just enough so that I can lift my body. They oblige because they believe this is a good deal. They are aware that if I really wanted to, I could hoist them off of me. I could leave them behind entirely and face my day without their strain. But I believe that I am not that strong. This belief alone makes me susceptible to their torment.

However, I soothe myself with the reminder that at least I am trying. Instead of making deals with these heavy emotions I could just let them squish me. I could give up entirely and allow them to hold me down with such a force that leaving my bed would be impossible. But I don't. Even by lessening them enough so that I can get up shows my power. Maybe I'm not at a point where I've internalized the full potential of my courage and strength, but this is evidence that it exists.

The loneliness, desolation, devastation, and loss are weights inside of my heart. They make me question my ability to get up and face the day and whether or not it's even worth it to try. But they are only with me because I allow them to be.  I must remember that no matter how brave they are, I am braver. No matter how strong they are, I am stronger. One day I will realize this fully and these weights will cease to exist. Once I allow myself to believe in the force of my own power, they won't stand a chance. But for now, I will give them permission to stay with me. For now, but not forever.