People hate it when you want them more than they want you. We’ll deny it, but it’s true. That’s always been the worst part about “the morning after” (so to speak). You spend time with someone, have wonderful time, get to see a warm and wonderful side of them… And then you think, “Wow, that was nice. We should do it more often.” Except that someone then has to make the first move. Someone has to put the first foot forward. Will it be you? It could. But you worry you’ll seem like you want too much. And that’s always a problem. Why is there so much pressure in our lives though? Can we all just say what we mean already? Would that be so bad?
Imagine a world where you don’t have to worry about texting first, or calling too often, or suggesting that you meet again, and soon. Imagine a world where it’s okay to show the people you want just how much we want them; where we don’t have to pretend that the first kiss didn’t totally blow our minds. Isn’t that the dream?
Also, isn’t it a bit silly how the one who cares less has the power? Who goes into a relationship seeking power anyway? We live in a very strange world.
Anyway, I’m just thinking out loud.
I hope you’re all having a wonderful week.
I got home this evening emotionally charged, with my tearducts swollen beyond maximum. Every now and then, they sneak and roll down my cheeks without my consent but today I heard myself wail. The only other time I heard that sound was when we were burying. I remember hearing a loud scream and then looking around for the origin of the noise. Only then did I realise that everyone’s head was looking at me, which had to mean that I was the one making the shocking sound. I had my head buried in Jojo’s chest and I was screaming like someone who was having their skin peeled off.
And so today I found myself screaming in a similar manner, except that I had to park my car a little distance from home and roll my Windows up. Because the last thing I would want would be to upset my mother. Because as much as I lost a father, she lost a best friend, spouse and companion of more than 30 years. My loss doesn’t even begin to compare.
And then it hit me that I’ve spent the last few months trying to make everyone around me comfortable with my grief and havent really taken any time off for me. If I’m not trying not to upset my mother, I’m trying not to upset my siblings, or to make sure my friends aren’t walking on eggshells around me just because I’m grieving. I’ve bent over backwards to appear okay, and in the process haven’t given myself much time to deal with the situation and begin to recover. If I had, I wouldn’t be wailing in the street. At least I don’t think I would.
So I’ve decided to take some time off and process my feelings. Call it the activation of ‘Hermit Mode’. I probably won’t be taking calls or responding to texts for the next few days. Please bear with me.
Hugs and kisses…
There’s so much I wish to say and do but I do not know where to start. It’s weird because I actually know which steps I need to take. But knowing and actually doing are two completely different things.
On most days, I can’t get myself to do much. Besides eat, of course, because even on my worst day, I can still eat enough for two grown men, at least. How I wish I were one of those people who get stressed or sick or sad and lose their appetite!
Anyway, I’ve received A LOT of support from my friends over the past two months, something I cannot take lightly. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably be fully depressed right now. Thank God for the endless distractions and the unawkward silences. I really don’t know where I’d be otherwise.
I’m off work for the rest of the week. And as you can imagine, my to-do list is sky high. I’ve resolved to try and reduce that list in the coming weeks, because my lack of productivity is actually starting to bother me. A lot of people say recovery is a choice. And while I, for the most part, don’t really agree with the statement as I feel like it invalidates our daily struggles to reach recovery even while it might take some time, I feel like I might need to be a little bit harder on myself, push some more lest this state of hopelessness and just being becomes a way of life. We really wouldn’t want that.
I guess it’s in times like this that being an empath comes in handy. I channel people’s energy and then mirror it. And I spent this evening around hopeful, inspired, hardworking ladies and their energy is bubbling forth in me. Hopefully I’ll be able to preserve enough of it to get me through the days ahead.
But for now, let me try to get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day.
Good thoughts and good wishes to you all…
❤ Zeri ❤
The 14th of February… such a scandalous day world over. People’s minds are blown, sometimes, others get terribly disappointed. Some have chosen not to believe altogether because it’s easier than accepting that nothing is coming through for yet another year in a row…
For me it holds so many funny memories from years past. From the little boy who got suspended from boarding school because he escaped to come and see me on that day (I didn’t even see him because my parents were home and I couldn’t get out of the gate), to the time I had more than one tentative date and they ALL fell through… to the time when my surprises came through well after 7pm and by then I was too mad to enjoy the treat (the perfect date, by the way). Then I remember the time when I came down from my building on my first day in Cape Town to find a boy with a puppy, red roses and a huge placard saying “Happy Valentine’s day baby!” And no calls or texts from my then boo. Thank God there were no blue ticks then . They could have started a world war, I tell you.
Now that I’m older (and much wiser), I find it absolutely ridiculous that so much would be tied to a single day, one with a very questionable history at that. I mean, it’s true that most of us need something to fuss over, to believe in, to look forward to; but frankly speaking, I think it would be much wiser to let the whole thing go altogether. I mean, what happens when nothing comes through? Or if you get the same old bouquet of flowers for the seventh year in a row? What then?
Call me a cynic but I’d rather have 365 days in which to expect nice things than have one singular one. There’s much less room for error with the former. However, with that being said, I do hope you guys weren’t too disappointed today. Surely some of your dreams came true, yes? We all know how much I love a good love story.
But for the rest of you who, like me, neither believe in nor celebrate Valentine’s day, I do hope you had a wonderful day at work/school/life.
Hugs and kisses…
On some mornings, you wake up completely paralysed on the inside. It feels like you’re lying under a pile of huge rocks and there isn’t much you can do about it. That’s the kind of morning-turned-day I’m having.
I rolled out of bed (literally) and stood in the shower for about 30 minutes doing nothing. There’s something very soothing about hot water running over your body; especially in the morning.
Anyway, after the shower, I sat on my bed and opened my instagram notifications. And both my siblings had posted about my father, and how it’s been two months since we buried him. He was lifting one of my baby nieces in the picture. He looked so happy. And then I involuntarily started thinking about him, not the wisest thing to do before a work day, but I couldn’t help it.
Anyway, I’ve been experiencing a myriad of emotions since November. To begin with, I was struck with terrible anxiety; the kind that kept me awake for over a month and killed my appetite for everything except KFC (because fried chicken cures everything). Over time, that anxiety morphed into numbness. I think this has something to do with the fact that I had to go back to work which meant feigning some sort of strength lest you totally break down. In any case, there’s only so long most people can tolerate basket cases for. It’s been 2 months for crying out loud, are you seriously still crying?
And then there was the guilt. Guilt I was eventually made to realise was unwarranted. I could have gotten to the hospital sooner. I could have been the last person he saw before he closed his eyes. Instead, I was fast asleep because the doctors saw no need to let us know he was in critical condition. And when they eventually decided to move him to ICU, I didn’t get there fast enough. I was a few minutes too late. On the one hand, I know i said goodbye. I hugged and kissed him the last time i saw him four days before he died and that’s extremely comforting. I’ve always been so big on goodbye. I’m the kind of person who’ll reach the top of the road and then turn back because I didn’t say goodbye. Thank God for that.
I dream about that morning many times a week, and each time, the outcome is different; he doesn’t die, he bounces back like he always did in the past.
Some days are worse than others when you’re dealing with grief. And on those days, it’s best to allow it. Today is one of those days. And I’ve allowed it.