This is something I have heard several times in the last few months.
I will say or do something, and the person I am with will say, "You're back!"
For some reason, this really bothers me. Everything in me fights that notion, and I usually end up "worse" for awhile.
And I think it's because there's a lot packed into that concept of being "back to normal."
I'm' not.
It may seem like I am. But honestly, I can't stress this enough, a lot of it is fake. A lot of my days follow the "fake it til you make it" motto. Because of depression and grief and exhaustion, I have to pretend to be myself. I can sometimes feel myself subconsciously trying to figure out "what would Monica do in this situation?" so that I can approximate my own normal as best I can.
Often, the statement that I'm back follows a whole lot of pretending to be my normal self.
Even if it is a genuine moment of "me-ness," it doesn't mean I'm back. That moment will pass as quickly as it came. Moments of normalcy, engagement and connectedness are fleeting.
I'm not "back."
Because "back" isn't static. It isn't a place at which to arrive and stay forever. It comes and goes. And identifying that I'm back is a quick way to make it disappear. It makes it sound like I have passed through grief and am now back on the other side. There is no other side to grief. It's the rest of my life. It will change and shrink and become part of me. But it's not a box I get to check off and go back to normal.
There is no such thing as back.
There is no going back. Trust me, I've tried everything I can to go back in time, and it's not possible.
Similarly, there is no going back to my old self. She died along with my dad. The girl that had a father is dead. The Monica that was full of life and energy and joy and spark and motivation and goals is buried along with my dad.
That's not to say that I will not be filled with these things again. To be honest, it is impossible to envision not being perpetually exhausted, but I'm told with time grief becomes less cripplingly draining.
But there still is no going back. A new Monica will emerge. With perhaps some of the same qualities, but not all of them. Watching your father die changes you. Permanently. And there is no going back.
There is no better/worse/back in grief.
Similar to the idea of being "back" is that I'm doing "better."
This again, is meant as a compliment, a comforting thought, but ends up frustrating me.
It's based on the idea that there is a better and a worse for grief. And there isn't. Being back to my old self, making my normal jokes and snarky comments doesn't mean I'm doing better. As I said early, it could be fake.
For example, if I'm making jokes about my dad's death, it doesn't mean I'm over it and have moved on. It could mean I'm light-hearted for a second. Or it could be a defense mechanism to push off the pain. Or it could be because I've emotionally disconnected myself from life for awhile and don't care what I say. It could be good or it could be bad.
To be fair, there are parts of grief that are worse and parts that are better. Exhaustion and depression are my absolute least favorite parts. When I have a bit of energy, or am more emotionally connected, I too consider myself to be doing better. I'd rather be crying than pissed off at God. I'd rather be sleeping 12 hours a day then 2. In the miserable game of Would You Rather: Grief edition, I can identify things as better or preferable to others.
But... as stated earlier, being better isn't a permanent place. It's fleeting- maybe 5 minutes, maybe 5 hours, maybe 5 days. And slipping back into all-consuming depression or blinding anger does not mean I'm doing badly. It just means I'm grieving.
I will say or do something, and the person I am with will say, "You're back!"
For some reason, this really bothers me. Everything in me fights that notion, and I usually end up "worse" for awhile.
And I think it's because there's a lot packed into that concept of being "back to normal."
I'm' not.
It may seem like I am. But honestly, I can't stress this enough, a lot of it is fake. A lot of my days follow the "fake it til you make it" motto. Because of depression and grief and exhaustion, I have to pretend to be myself. I can sometimes feel myself subconsciously trying to figure out "what would Monica do in this situation?" so that I can approximate my own normal as best I can.
Often, the statement that I'm back follows a whole lot of pretending to be my normal self.
Even if it is a genuine moment of "me-ness," it doesn't mean I'm back. That moment will pass as quickly as it came. Moments of normalcy, engagement and connectedness are fleeting.
I'm not "back."
Because "back" isn't static. It isn't a place at which to arrive and stay forever. It comes and goes. And identifying that I'm back is a quick way to make it disappear. It makes it sound like I have passed through grief and am now back on the other side. There is no other side to grief. It's the rest of my life. It will change and shrink and become part of me. But it's not a box I get to check off and go back to normal.
There is no such thing as back.
There is no going back. Trust me, I've tried everything I can to go back in time, and it's not possible.
Similarly, there is no going back to my old self. She died along with my dad. The girl that had a father is dead. The Monica that was full of life and energy and joy and spark and motivation and goals is buried along with my dad.
That's not to say that I will not be filled with these things again. To be honest, it is impossible to envision not being perpetually exhausted, but I'm told with time grief becomes less cripplingly draining.
But there still is no going back. A new Monica will emerge. With perhaps some of the same qualities, but not all of them. Watching your father die changes you. Permanently. And there is no going back.
There is no better/worse/back in grief.
Similar to the idea of being "back" is that I'm doing "better."
This again, is meant as a compliment, a comforting thought, but ends up frustrating me.
It's based on the idea that there is a better and a worse for grief. And there isn't. Being back to my old self, making my normal jokes and snarky comments doesn't mean I'm doing better. As I said early, it could be fake.
For example, if I'm making jokes about my dad's death, it doesn't mean I'm over it and have moved on. It could mean I'm light-hearted for a second. Or it could be a defense mechanism to push off the pain. Or it could be because I've emotionally disconnected myself from life for awhile and don't care what I say. It could be good or it could be bad.
To be fair, there are parts of grief that are worse and parts that are better. Exhaustion and depression are my absolute least favorite parts. When I have a bit of energy, or am more emotionally connected, I too consider myself to be doing better. I'd rather be crying than pissed off at God. I'd rather be sleeping 12 hours a day then 2. In the miserable game of Would You Rather: Grief edition, I can identify things as better or preferable to others.
But... as stated earlier, being better isn't a permanent place. It's fleeting- maybe 5 minutes, maybe 5 hours, maybe 5 days. And slipping back into all-consuming depression or blinding anger does not mean I'm doing badly. It just means I'm grieving.
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