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Saying Goodbye

Owning my grief.

By Ariel JosephPublished 2 years ago Updated 8 months ago 3 min read
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Saying Goodbye
Photo by Matt on Unsplash

It’s that suffocating kind of pain. You know the kind. It chokes you. It’s simultaneously a dull ache and a sharp knife, twisting your insides over and over again until you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to stand it. It’s the kind of grief that eats away at the core of you. Inside out, until heart and soul, flesh and bone are damaged. You know better than to think they can ever really be repaired.

It’s that kind of grief that completely consumes you and from this moment on, another little piece of you has died and part of you desperately wants to die along with it. Instead you move on and go through the motions, knowing that this kind of pain can too easily end up breeding more pain. You know it’s time to do the unthinkable. The unbelievable. You find a way to live with your hurt, rather than be the reason anyone else hurts.

It’s a never-ending cycle and you wonder why. Is there a lesson in this? Or is it just a universal truth that nothing gold can stay. The best things you’ve ever had will eventually fade away and you’ll be left to hold yourself together until eventually you too fade away, leaving behind your own collection of damaged souls as the proof that you were here.

Of course it’s not all pain and suffering, but when the pain hits it’s hard to remember that the good times existed, much less that they were worth the hell you exist in now.

It’s the guilt, the wondering if you had been better, more observant, more intelligent, more complete, could you have fixed it? It’s the ache of saying goodbye, and leaving behind an entire chapter of your life and all the beautiful things it gave to you. It’s the anger, at everything and everyone. Anger at your friends and family who you don’t believe can really understand the pain. Anger at the world for being so cruel. Anger at your God, because how could something that’s supposed to love you watch you suffer like this. If there’s a point, could we get to it?

But mostly you know it’s just the loss. It’s missing what you had and knowing you’d give anything and everything to have it back for just a minute. To hold it close one more time and remember how it felt to be whole. It’s different for everyone, but it’s the great human equalizer. Emotional trauma doesn’t care who you are or how much money you have. You can’t escape it.

I know my pain isn’t worse than anyone else's. But it’s mine all the same and damn it hurts. I want to scream. I want to smash everything I own and burn it all up until nothing is left and I’m forced to completely start over.

I’d give anything to have him back. Just for a minute or two. I’d say I love you and I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. You were everything to me. You made me stronger, you made me whole, and now that you’re gone I’m scared of how to find that again on my own. I’m scared of what happens next, without you here to take care of me when I inevitably fail and fail again. You were my biggest supporter. You were my safe space in this world that too often I don’t understand and can’t relate to. You’re still my safe space even now. I drift into a memory and can feel peace for a moment and when it’s gone I’m left again, empty. Suffocating.

coping
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About the Creator

Ariel Joseph

I love to write pretty much everything and anything, except a profile page bio.

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