Have you ever seen a Mime pantomime being stuck in a room? The guy is all dressed up, face full of makeup and as his cute little beret sits perfectly on his head, he “feels” his way around the room, never seeming to find his way out. Mimes are performers that can also climb imaginary stairs, pull imaginary ropes, and fall without hurting themselves, but it’s that box that I’m so drawn to. I know it well. And it isn’t imaginary.
For two weeks now I’ve been “off” and I have no idea what the problem is. That’s the thing about grief. You have to go through a check list of what might be wrong to figure out what actually IS wrong. Is it depression and anxiety or is it the “G” word?
I’m not weepy. I’m not having trouble sleeping or getting out of bed. I’ve showered, brushed my teeth, and put on makeup (you’re welcome). I’ve cleaned and organized my house, shopped for groceries, attended a celebration for a friend and had a pre-birthday party for Little Man. But it’s a performance.
So, am I depressed? Eh, maybe but I can’t be sure. I’ve been depressed and this doesn’t feel like it. Mental health is very important to me and I try to make it a priority, so when I’m feeling like my headspace is getting too noisy, I take a break. This doesn’t seem to fit the mold of depression. I’m basically numb, which for someone with a personality like mine, is completely foreign and uncomfortable. I’m an “all in” kinda gal, which means I feel EVERYTHING to the 10th degree, so to not feel? Well, it feels awful. If I understand what’s going on in me, I can deal with it. If it has a name and if I can specifically pray about it, I’ll endure it until it passes, but I don’t understand this and it doesn’t seem to be vacating the premises anytime soon, which to me means that the “G” word has infiltrated because nothing about grief makes sense.
At all.
It’s like being in that room. Wearing a straight jacket. I can see and hear all that is going on outside of that room and I desperately want to be out there in it. The sights and sounds of the life being lived around me taunt me but I can’t find my way out. I can see the door that leads to my freedom, but it has a combination lock that I can’t remember. Even if I could remember it, the straight jacket keeps me bound and frantically trying to get loose. Struggling in the jacket exhausts me until I just stop fighting it and I begin believing the lie that I’ll never get out.
Everywhere I go, the room goes. It lets me do what needs to be done, but it’s got titanium like walls that keep joy and laughter from penetrating. It allows my loved ones to see me, and I them, but walls are meant to keep things out, and the best that I can hope for is that a little of the connection to life will come through like rays of sunshine through a window.
This “room” is holding me hostage and I’ve been going back and forth from fighting the jacket to trying to remember the combination to desperately wanting to feel again for days and I am so over it. So much so that there is an emotion that is starting to well inside of me.
Anger.
I’m angry that grief can kidnap me at its whim and rob me while it’s abducting me. I’m angry that even with all that I have been given to survive and thrive in a world without my son, I can without warning become a victim of the most brutal assault on the mind, soul and spirit.
I don’t belong here.
I am not a victim.
I am a victor.
And I’m over this room that has muted the sights and sounds of my life more abundant. Since my loved ones have absolutely no idea how to get in, I have no choice but to break my way out. I’ve been praying – when I wasn’t exhausted from struggling – and I have finally heard what has to be done. I’m not fighting the jacket anymore. I’m not racking my brain for the combination anymore. I’m going She Hulk on this room and busting my way out sending the straight jacket, combination lock and glass shards flying gloriously into the atmosphere.
And I’m staying in the She Hulk form.
Mimes are silent and constantly trying to get out of something, but She Hulk? She’s a straight up bada$$ that no room can contain. The room is going to be destroyed, like so many rooms before it, but there will undoubtedly be another. That’s just how grief works. And with each entrapment, the Lord makes sure that I come out stronger, wiser and more confident. Grief will continually seek to blind me and deafen me to a vibrant world, but it’s my world and my life and I will fight for it.
So, yeah, call me She Hulk.
And grief, once again, you can suck it.
#HopeMovement
#shehulk
#shatteringgrief
#victor
