When Megan Devine Gives You A Writing Prompt, You Do It.

Megan Devine writes in her book, “It’s OK That You’re Not OK”, that there is a freedom in letting all of your words out.

She mentions a woman named Grace, who says that her writing didn’t fix her, but it gave her a way to honor herself, her own experience, and her own broken heart. She goes on to say that the only way through, is through. Writing has provided her a tool to use as a way to get through.

Megan Shares a writing prompt in the book that I decided to try myself. She says that If you were writing fiction, you would want to know your main character. If Grief were a character, who would they be? What would they sound like? What would they look like?

She said to set a timer for 10 minutes, and when you start the timer you start writing. I took some time before hitting the start button, to reflect and fully descent towards that pain. I allowed myself to see all of my grief, to feel it. This is what came out...

She stands alone on a bridge.

There is no color.

Just black, white, gray.

She is soaking wet.

She stands there staring straight ahead.

She can hear the sound of the ocean bouncing back from the shore.

She cries, but makes no noise.

The wind blows her hair in her face, but she does not move it out of her face.

She is calm.

Hands resting on the stone bridge wall.

She drops her head, her shoulders raise, she takes in a deep breath, and she lets out a hard sigh.

She takes another deep breath, and she screams with her head bowed, and then she lifts her head up to the sky, and she just screams.

She bows her head again.

She breathes softly.

She looks straight ahead of her.

She is sketched out from a ball pen, black ink, messy, but artistic.

She’s nearly naked.

She’s wearing a silk nightgown that stops above her knees.

She looks to her right, down at the light pole that’s planted at the end of the bridge, or maybe it’s the beginning?

But that’s where the light is, the light that only turns on in the dark.

No moths fly around the light because of the rain.

No sound of car wheels running over the stone road.

I am behind her.

I don’t even know what her face looks like.

I walk up to her.

I say something so that she knows I’m there. She doesn’t even flinch.

Grief: "What is it that you need me to tell you?"

Me: "Truth. I just want the truth, even if it will hurt, and I know it will."

Grief: "Just feel it. All of it. You must in order for its volume to lower."

Me: "Will you get better?"

Grief: "I will change over time. Sometimes places, my clothes, and colors.”

Me: “Are you angry?"

Grief: "Yes. And that’s okay.”

Minutes pass.

We just listen to the oceans whisper.

Grief: “I’m not afraid anymore."

I put my arm around her, and stare out at the blackness when the stars in the night sky begin to switch on as if someone were turning up the dimming nob to their light.

The ocean comes into view.

She never puts her arm around me, but I hold her close, and she lets me.

The side of her face is lined out with the same ball pen, black ink, in a messy kind of artistic way.

No color.

Just white and black.

Her mouth stays closed and her eyes take long blinks every several seconds.

Tears are stationed in a pause on her left cheek.

She is just being.

Thank you for reading 💜