I’ve been a bit numb since Monday night.
I suppose it’s not necessarily an inability to feel, but rather an unwillingness. With those who are grieving, I understand what they are doing when they force themselves to put on a mask and be strong for those around them. I think people who are depressed or experiencing a significant life event typically do that by default. You don’t want others to worry about you. You don’t want to appear weak. You don’t want others to think they can’t rely on you. Most of all, in being “strong,” you can delay the inevitable. You can avoid sadness altogether. That is, until you can’t.
I spent time with my littlest sister today. We went out to lunch, I took her to the doctor for her annual physical, and I brought her back home. We talked a lot, goofed off a lot, listened to music we both enjoy, and genuinely had a great time. After leaving her at my parents’ house for the night, I felt great.
The thing about feelings is that even if you allow to feel anything, even a little, even positive, you open up the floodgates just enough to experience the rush of emotion that has been building up.
The drive home was difficult. My release of emotion vacillated between simply tearing up and ugly-faces, snotty, drooly sobbing. And once I felt that I had cried enough, I wiped my eyes, blew my nose, and fiddled with my phone to find new music to play.
I feel a little unraveled, and a little exposed. Carrying on after a huge bout of emotions feels like you’re walking naked. You’re at your most vulnerable and you’re hoping and praying no one will poke at your nakedness with a stick.
Azure Ray’s song “November” is perhaps the best explanation of my feelings at this point.
“So I’m waiting for this test to end, so these lighter days can soon begin…”