Each night I hear a low rumble, he gnashes and claws at my door.
Demanding to be let in.
The Beast has come for me; he has come to collect his debt.
At first I try to ignore him; I try to poison him with alcohol, hide in the bodies of others; abuse any distraction. But he is a patient creature, my Beast. He lives only for me, and will wait until my last sigh of breath.
He moves closer as I back into a corner; I have nowhere to go. My lungs become led and crush my chest. He stands so close that I can smell the delectable torment of death on his breath. He licks his lips and slowly wraps his fingers around my throat;, squeezing gently.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
This is What Grief Feels Like.
Your first instinct is to recoil from the rawness of it all; to put as much distance between you and your Beast.
Stop shrinking back. Lean in close.
Wrap your arms tightly around its thorny skin pull it in. Feel the exquisite pain as it pierces your heart even further.
Hold it tightly.
For it is a part of you, even though it feels like it is tearing you apart.
Your Beast has something important to tell you, and it won’t leave until you listen. And when you do eventually understand, it will release its bony fingers that are so tightly clasped around your throat, and the constant crushing and gnawing will stop.
You will be free.
Now look U
It may be the hardest thing you will ever have to do in your life, but you have got to keep moving forward. Even if it means crawling on your hands and knees; clutching the shards of broken self that spill out of your many, many wounds. There is no shame in asking for help, or admitting that you can’t quite get alone.
“It’s your road, and yours alone. Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you.”
I remember thinking the morning after my mom died, “This hurts so violently. And I know it’s only going to get worse. How am I going to get through this?”
And so will you.
You are Not Alone.