When you lose someone to death, they never tell you how hard or how easy the grief process can be.
They never tell you about that heartache that you feel inside your chest every time you think of the person you lost. That constant hole inside your chest and how, no matter how much you try to fill it with other things, it never goes away. They don’t inform you that certain songs, movies, or shows can trigger emotions deep inside of you and make you lose your **** sometimes. You’re never told about the constant days and nights, sobbing, unable to move as you just lay there and wish you were dead. Not because you wanted your life to end, but because you wish you were with that person again. They don’t tell you about your subconscious and how it’ll try to find every little thing that can relate to that person, just to try and get a grasp of hope that they might still be on earth, that they might still be alive.
No one tells you about the guilt you feel, for every negative impact you had with that person while you were alive. Let alone the guilt you face when you are supposed to do them proud and you feel as though you are failing them. They never tell you that that person might have taught you a lot of things in life, but they never taught you how to live your life without them, how to go on without them, how to move on from them. They never tell you about the constant stomach ache, the terrifying and rippling anxiety that you get every time someone mentions their name. You’re not told about the sting in your eyes or the pain of the lump in your throat as you try your best to prove to everyone that you are okay, when in fact, you are far from okay. The jaw clenching, the anger, the countless holes in the wall or dents in the ground that perfectly show an imprint of your knuckles, because you can’t seem to swallow your emotions anymore. They never tell you about the screaming, the anger towards the person that passed or really anyone and everyone for that matter.
They never talk about how antidepressants don’t work anymore or counseling just doesn’t seem like enough. You’re not told about the amount of times that you’ll space out during the day; whether you’re in class, at the marker, or in the shower. They don’t tell you about the shaking of every limb on your body because you ache to be able to reach for that person again, the shaking of your insides because you try to hold in or emotions. They let you know that the first year could be the hardest, or that you could be numb and the second year hits harder. About the countless holiday’s, birthdays, and anniversaries that you will miss and how it just becomes all the more painful each reminder. They don’t tell you about the nightmares. How you’ll relive every moment all over again and once you wake up, you’re forced to face the reality that it’s not true.
Throughout losing someone, you’re not told a lot of things. But most importantly, you’re not told about the fleeting moments you get for a split blissful second you have this butterfly feeling where everything is fine, that person didn’t pass, and you think they will call, you’ll call them, or they’ll walk right through that door soon. As if you hadn’t gone through all that pain and as if you hadn’t watched their soulless body be buried underground. And for that very very brief second, you feel normal and free. But as soon as it comes, it goes away just as fast and you’re faced with the brutal reality that that feeling was just an anomaly, a fluke, maybe even a daydream. Then you’re left to think about it for weeks on end, wondering why you felt that way in the first place when you /know/ they are gone.
Least to say….people don’t speak up. They don’t tell you a lot about grieving and how alone it can feel not knowing. But I just told you a small fraction of my side and believe me when I tell you, /you’re not alone/. /And you will never be alone/.
This isn't really a poem I guess? But more so just a ramble about grief and the death of my father and my feelings towards it all.
