What would it take for me to go diving into the deep ocean of grief I am in? What would it take for me to be able to face my grief and see it for what it is, love enduring? How can I dive into the darkness and not panic about being about to breathe or see on the way down?
I cannot tell if I am ready yet, or that I need to be ready to do it. Right now, it’s like I’m in an oxygenated box, settled near where the drop off is to the deepness of the grief I feel. I feel like I can see where the drop off is, and then maybe for a short distance before the drop off gets dark and murky. There’s some kind of light in the far far distance, where I can see things flitting about. What are they? Are they memories? Are they parts of my anxiety that are stalking me to take me down to the deep darkness where I will never find my way back?
As I said before, I won’t know until I go, but I don’t think I’m ready.
But is this like saying you are going to wait until you are ready to have kids, but if you actually wait until you are ready you will never be ready? Is this my anxiety directing me to stay in that little box while part of me desperately wants to see what’s down there?
I recall what my life looked like before the murders, and I am going to guess that at the bottom of that ocean crevice is the smoldering remains, and I am picking a wooden frame charred and somehow smoking, but it feels like it’s not going to look like that. There’s red light, darkness flicking in and out of the light, deep deep down.
I have social anxiety disorder, and it’s really problematic sometimes, but I am getting better at knowing when it’s anxiety and when I really don’t want to do something. For example, I might make plans with a friend, and then by the time I get to the date, I don’t want to do it. Maybe it’s because I over booked myself and I’m really tired and I am just DONE with peopling, and those are all valid reasons to cancel.
But sometimes it’s actually something that’s more deeply in my mind and my heart, where I feel like I’m going to look dumb if I go. What if I say something stupid? What if I embarrass myself in front of someone important? What if I show exactly how weird I am? What if I am in a room full of younger parents and I say something that makes me seem obviously old?
It all sounds really ridiculous writing it out, but when I am feeling these things, I am just stunned, frozen to the spot, probably making a weird face, all eyes on me, lots of giggles and smirks because I am clearly an idiot and super uncool.
Yes, I am 47, and I still have these fears.
And the way I feel about going deep into this grief is similar to how I feel about social situations. I am usually fine as long as my brain doesn’t start up. But once it starts, it’s super difficult for it to stop.
In the end, this isn’t going to be as scary as my brain makes it out to be. Part of me is afraid I am going to go beyond the feelings and reactions I had when I first found out about the murders. The tears, the almost hyperventilating, the snot rivers, the heaving gravity of this loss. How could it be worse than that first day? Than the first couple weeks? Even now, I have come far. Lula’s birthday snuck up on me, and I was very sad and tearful that day, but I haven’t cried about this since the day of Lula’s birthday and it’s been over a week since then.
So what would I need to go deep?
Things that cannot be guaranteed. No one can say for certain that I will come out of this deep dive okay. No one can say that I won’t lose my mind in the process. No one can say that the outcome on the other side (if there is another side) is positive.
But this is looking at my grief through the lens of how our society looks at grief. And I know that if I look at grief with love, approach it with tenderness and be open to what I will see and experience, it will be something more positive than the way our society treats it currently.
I just have to see if the anxiety is what is holding me back or not.
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