There are so many things about grief that I had no idea even existed. The new one I have recently discovered is how bad and bizarre brain fog can be. And when it hits vs when it doesn’t.
I can focus on work. I can focus on school. Usually anyway. But general conversation…holy fuck. That is a different story. I will be holding a conversation with someone and words can sometimes literally fall out of my head. The words just drop. Similar to that feeling when a word is on the tip of the tongue but you can’t place it. Or when you were going to say something but can’t remember what you were going to say.
It is such an offputting feeling. It makes me feel like something is wrong with me. Or with my head. Or with my brain. I know there isn’t obviously, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t still feel it.
What the fuck is this? Why do I have to deal with pain and stress and missing my baby boy every second of every motherfucking day and then having my head feel like I’m having a fucking stroke all of the damn time on top of it?
Is it my brain still working in survival mode? Trying it’s damnedest just to keep me functioning at a base level? Trying to help keep me breathing, keep my heart beating, keep me waking up each day so I can put one foot in front of the other? I truly don’t know and don’t understand. But it fucking sucks and I hate trying to hold a conversation and having words just fall out of my head.
It’s strange, though, that the words flow here. And I fucking hate writing. I always have. I hate writing papers. I don’t like writing fiction. Poems. I hate it all. English class was not fun for me growing up. College hasn’t been either. I don’t even like to journal. What should I say?
“So I had a day today. Woke up. Brushed my teeth. Went to work. Came home. Went to bed.”
I have just never been one for that type of thing. And speaking now doesn’t seem to work well either. Because words drop out of my head like I am having a fucking stroke. But this…
This I can do. This…
This clears my mind. It doesn’t make anything better. The only thing that would make it better would be having my baby back. I might still be dealing with horrible depression that only purchased serotonin in the form of a large dose of escitalopram is keeping at bay. I might still be dealing with horrible anxiety that my cuticles are paying the price for. And I might still be dealing with PTSD from that horrible night and the memories that replay in my head again…and again…and again…
But this at least helps me process the thoughts in my mind. At least until the next time that I can’t remember the fucking word I am trying to say
Grief is a B!tch 