Grief

I’ve just begun my fifth consecutive year at Uni. Clearly, I am insane. So far I’m having a major attack of the I’m-not-smart-enoughs, brought on mostly by the fact that I’m taking a critical theory subject which makes my brain want to flee in terror.

It’s not making the loss of Bec any easier, though. I’ve been understandably rather down for the last few months, and it doesn’t help being back in a place which I associate so strongly with her; not just because it’s where I met her and got to know her, but because she was so active in trying to make the Uni a better place for everyone to be at. I’m finding that parts of my brain switch off when I go in to class, just so I can make it through my time there without crying. I’m hoping it will get better; it’s not something I’d quit my course over, but it does make what is already a difficult time for me emotionally even worse.

My course. There’s another problem. Bec was supposed to be in my class this semester. I spent the first seminar, all two hours of it, trying desperately not to think about how she should have been there, patting me and trying to force-feed me bites of muffin and flashing me that gigantic, beaming grin everytime she caught my eye. And she wasn’t, of course, and I felt her absence so keenly. It brought on a big case of the maudlins.

I’ve been trying to blindly charge on regardless since December. Sometimes it works, but only for a while. Often it doesn’t, and I retreat further and further into myself in a pointless quest to make it stop hurting so much. It’s something I’ve got a tendency to do, and I promised myself I wouldn’t anymore after all that’s happened, but it’s a fairly deeply ingrained behaviour pattern by now. It’s a comforting response without the comfort.

I waver between not wanting to say anything on this, and wanting to say too much. I compose elaborate letters to Bec in my head that will never be sent or even written down, yet mostly shy away from talking or otherwise communicating my thoughts. I waver between trying to keep this page relatively lighthearted, and wanting to write honestly. I’m not completely without joy at the moment, but things are difficult.

What it comes down to is a fundamental inability to understand: I accept that Bec is dead, but at the same time, cannot comprehend it. I cried, I rang people at all hours to deliver rambling, shambolic soliloquies, I saw her body, I went to her funeral. But it still doesn’t make sense. I know she’s walked out that door and closed it behind her, but there is always a part of my mind that’s staring at the door, waiting for her to step back in at any moment.

Grasping reality is difficult when you don’t even want to touch the damn thing.

5 Responses to “Grief”

  1. Sami Says:

    Aimee,

    I’m so glad to see you write something here again. I check here daily to see if you’ve written anything new.

    I’m so sorry for the loss of your friend. I can see how difficult it must be for you to try to cope with her loss with her memory so fresh at hand. Don’t be afraid to talk about it though. I think a lot of times expressing how you feel about it lets it out of your head and helps you to deal with your feelings better. As a writer, I’m sure you get that. Perhaps you don’t want to express your feelings because you don’t want to let them go because letting them go might mean that you have to let her go. And you’re not ready for that and not ready to stop grieving.

    This post is a first step for you. You should write more like it, even if they never see anyone’s eyes but your own. Write down those letters to Becky and get them out of your heart. Maybe you could symbolically send them to her by burning or tearing them and then releasing the pieces to the wind. Sounds kind of cheesy, but it might be the kind of release that you need.

    Keeping you in my thoughts,
    Sami

  2. Tess Says:

    Let it out. Here, somewhere else, someone else, but let it out.

    These things are too big and painful and too heavy to carry alone and on the inside.

  3. mnky Says:

    Ms Hussy – here is what works for me with painful episodes in life – hold it all in, supress it and supress it and force it deep deep down and then pile a heap of weight on it then lock it away deep deep down in your heart never let it out or consider it ever – never contemplate it or discuss it or ever think about it – it works for me – now if I could just control my alcoholism and fits of anger – seriously some things change you as a person maybe this is one of those you may have slightly altered the path you are to take in life – things may never get back to what they were – things change and people change – missed you and your posts

  4. liah Says:

    Hi Aimee,
    I wish there was something I could say to make it all better. But I am told that it gets easier. A friend who lost her father told me that while she has sad moments sometimes, she eventually accepted his death, and her memories of him are no longer painful.

    Glad to see you posting again.

  5. NousaMe Says:

    I’ve been waiting for you to start talking about Bec, because it’s a good sign – one of the first steps towards making sense of things, finding a way to articulate what’s churning away inside.

    Will contact you to proffer hugs and a little Comedy Fest action. Try applying Critical Theory to Puppetry of the Penis, if you may :)