I’ve been silent these past months, not by choice but because grief, depression, and crippling anxiety attacks have rendered me immobile. I have felt stationary – unable to muster basic interest in most things besides sleeping, reading, and endlessly scrolling through social media feeds. I’ve still pushed myself everyday; I’ve still gotten out of bed and gone to work, but that in and of itself has caused anxiety as I question my ability to do my job, my career choices, and my prospects for the future.
I thought that the seventh month after my father’s death was the hardest, as the eighth month got better. Then the ninth month hit and the undertow of sadness and misery pulled me down, down, down until I was caught, swimming in impenetrable darkness.
I decided that enough was enough about three weeks ago and I sought help. Since then, I’ve been clawing my way toward that distant sunlight that I know is there, yet have been unable to feel.
The rays are touching me now. Faintly, of course, but I’m beginning to feel it. My limbs are thawing. My brain is clearing up. I don’t yet feel hope or optimism, but the cold shackles around my heart feel as though they’re at least loosening, if not preparing to fall away soon.
I have so much to look forward to (which I will post about soon) with the upcoming camping season and what we’ve chosen to do in that respect. My muse is awake and formulating a novel idea that I’m eager to start getting down on paper. Life is restarting. Slowly. But it’s there.
Yet the grief continues. July 21st will mark the first anniversary of Dad’s passing. I will mark it with a yahrzeit candle and a river of tears. I hope, though, that I can continue to move in a positive direction, as this darkness and misery isn’t something I wish for anyone, let alone for myself.