Sometimes I want to scream at people: “You Can’t Fix Me”.
because sometimes, I get so sick of hearing that I need to “look after myself” or “do something for myself” or “make it happen” or “chin up” or “forge ahead”.
Sometimes it’s just too much when friends and colleagues minimise my grief in their misguided belief that they would know how to grieve properly if our positions were reversed.
(The same people that go to pieces if they have a sniffle and won’t make it to the gym that day.)
No, they’d grieve properly, have it together within a year and make rational decisions to take their lives onwards and upwards.
They’d “go to counselling” and “get the help they need” to get on with their lives.
Maybe a tasteful shrine with a few candles on the mantle to remember their love.
A weekly visit to the cemetery: fresh flowers on the grave.
They’d get themselves that new job that fits in with their altered lifestyle.
They wouldn’t suffer the grief fog, the loss of short-term memory, the sudden tears, the incapacitating sadness that saps all energy yet prevents you from sleep.
They quote some random bereaved person their aunty’s girlfriend’s hairdresser’s mother knows who has “coped admirably” with grief…. and cite it as “if they can do it, you can too”. Never realising that the person they speak of most likely is showing them the brave face and not the face screwed up in the agony which is widowhood.
NO, not for them this incorrect grief….
I am tired of explaining that life doesn’t work that way.
That “The Secret” isn’t based on scientific fact. You can’t just wish you woes away anymore than you can make your beloved rise from the dead.
…and I hate that they overlook the incredible feat of strength and endurance I go through on a daily basis Just To Get Through The Day.
I wish they could see the progress I’ve made.
I wish they could know how hard this is without me having to spell it out.
Yes I am helping myself.
Yes I am doing everything in my power to move forward.
…and I am doing a bloody good job of it.
But I wish they’d stop thinking that they know how to fix me.