Grief is a Process – It’s okay not to be okay.

It's honestly funny how grief hits you sometimes, you'll be doing so well, handling what life throws at you and suddenly you're in tears on the floor desperately digging your fingernails into the wooden floorboards and that pretty old H&M home rug that you probably shouldn't have splurged on. For me it was the teddy bear.

The week started off as any other, except it wasn't. Sure I'd been doing well, distracting myself by bitching about Troian's GOD AWFUL British accent in THAT Pretty Little Liars finale and making myself feel better by trolling awkward faced boys on Tinder and downing pints of Cider and failing at the pub quiz with my best friend because it's what we do best. Clearing out my bedroom like I do every weekend when suddenly finding a shabby old blue teddy bear hidden underneath my bed made everything real again.

It was like a trickle effect, I thought of you in 1991, long haired, care free and in your 30s, buying a teddy for the daughter sitting upstairs at St Thomas' hospital. I thought of the fact that you were probably stoned from having a decent night out with the lads the night before, I then flashed forward to your decaying body, destroyed from years of abuse, lying on your apartment floor.

I know that substance abuse is one hell of a monster, and I know that sometimes I'll hate you for giving into it and letting it define you as a person.

I know that sometimes I'll look back at the bedtime stories you read me, and I'll fondly remember the person you used to be. So badly wishing that the monsters from those bedtime stories could defeat the monster that was brewing inside you.

I wanted to rush and lean on my best friend, my rock, the man I was ready to start my life with, but no - I couldn't do that anymore, he'd had enough of my life and it's dramas. I mean didn't Lorde put it best? "Too much for me. You're a liability." 

Sure, having a boy break your heart into a million tiny pieces after you thought forever was on it's way is a lot, and of course it was especially a lot that week. Taking your rose tinted glasses off to see him swiping through Tinder while you mourn the death of two relationships will never be easy.

Dealing with the issues I have, ages you. Trauma, Abuse, Suicide, it changes you as a person, and while I would like to say that it has made me stronger, it's not always the case. I'm not always strong. There are days where I won't want to get out of bed, there are days where I break down and succumb to those inner demons, there are days where I'm truly thankful for the emotions my medication stops me feeling.

So I'm going to fight, I'm going to take the good days with the bad and I'm going to remind myself that I am enough. Because really, I am.

Share: