I’ve been through a lot of thought processes in the past week and a half since returning from Koh Lipe. I’ve developed some coping strategies, started going out of the house and yesterday had the first day where I only cried one time (granted today has been the complete opposite in terms of mood). I find writing very therapeutic and I think it may also be helpful for those closest to this experience. I’m going to divide this blog post into different parts to try and track some of my thoughts.
Obviously I think about Jerry all the time. It is honestly the most painful thing to have someone literally around you all the time and then suddenly, without any preparation or a goodbye, they have disappeared. It’s really difficult to explain how it feels when someone disappears and doesn’t exist because you haven’t changed your feelings towards them and so to you they very much exist. Every single time I get the realisation that I will never see him again in my life I feel like I’m going to throw up. It’s a truth that is so painful to comprehend. Every day I wake up and I think “Jerry won’t see this day”, “what would we be doing today?”, “he doesn’t know what I’m doing or what I feel and he won’t ever know anything more about me.” I’ve tried to focus on the fact that he was very unhappy before he knew me, and was very happy when he did. I know he had everything he wanted when he died, no one can take that away from me. No one can tell me I wasn’t the love of his life or that I didn’t give him a purpose and no one can take away my memories and his words. Kirsty helped me by showing me a conversation she had with JP maybe two days before he met me:
I then showed her this in response:
No one can take that contrast in his happiness away from me. It’s living hell going through grief and one day I’m going to write an entire book on this but for now I’ll describe it like this:
Imagine one day your boyfriend/girlfriend dies. They’ve not gone away for a bit and you miss them, they’re uncontactable, only existing in your memories from now on. Everything you loved about them is now heightened. Every single thing you know about them becomes an obsession. You now only exist within this bubble of your own sadness. You can only relate to other people who are also in this bubble. You feel like you’re watching life from a different planet, observing the world without feeling anything. You want to do things but you don’t remember how. You’d love to laugh but you don’t remember what happiness feels like. Even things that you love, like nature or the sun or reading are shut away behind this door. Kirsty said grief is like a black hole outside your door. Every day you get up and you either fall down or you somehow find a way to walk around it. Sometimes you fall down so far and it’s bottomless. Other times you detach and you go through your day doing what is required to function without really absorbing anything going on. Time is very odd. Sleep is odd. Food tastes odd. You feel nervous and sick most of the time. That’s how I’d describe grief for now.
I found a typically shit video on Jerry’s computer that has his voice on. So painful. So precious.
I purchased Lang Leav’s new book and as usual she has some wise words to share. I use poetry to not feel alone. Here are some:
Waking up has become an issue for me, as have dreams. Neither are pleasant. Dreams either process what’s happened as a nightmare, play out beautiful but unattainable scenarios or tap into my biggest fears. Waking up is facing reality every day.
I worry that Jerry will be defined by his tragic death in time. If someone said his name, dead would be first word I’d think of at the moment.
I think the best people are those who have experienced suffering and have survived.
This explains the dream like alternative reality of everything existing just the same as it was whilst also being devastatingly different.
This one is more about how to move forward from loving someone when you never chose for it to be over.
I’ve also found meaningful art by Mari Andrew.
All very relevant.
And so I am now almost at one month without Jerry. I don’t watch tv, I don’t read aside from for grieving purposes, I rarely experience what’s going on when I am out, I don’t eat very much, I sleep around 3 hours a night. However I do go out more than I was, I’m trying to create less painful memories of Jerry and I’m trying to take back some of the things that I love to do. I need to sort out my PTSD but grieving and functioning in the world at the same time I’m getting better at. I’m not the same person I was, but who could be after this?
I will leave you with a photo of Jerry and some veggie chilli of which I still have a frozen portion of. Love you JP.
All the love to my inner circle and The Fellowship. ❤