The Pain of Grief | Resisting the Self-Destruct Button

It’s been three weeks since Mum passed away. The day Mum left feels simultaneously like a lifetime away and only yesterday. Time is behaving strangely. Days of the week have no meaning. Time, space, days, they are all the same. The pain of grief is all consuming and relentless.

I am in an unbelievable amount of pain. It hurts to breathe, and the world scrapes against my raw skin. I can only distract myself for brief periods until I remember all over again. Then the pain of the grief I feel at the loss of Mum gushes back in.

Bedtime means that another day is over, but also that I will have to wake up and do it all over again.

My two worst times of day are the last thing at night and initially waking up. The last thing at night is awful because there should be a sense of relief on going to sleep but there isn’t. Bedtime means that another day is over, but also that I will have to wake up and do it all over again. Then, when I wake in the morning, the same feeling of time limbo is there, as is the sharp memory that this was not all a dream.

Nothing Prepares You For The Pain Of Grief

I knew that losing Mum would hurt, but I was not prepared for the enormity of pain. I cannot cope with it. My body feels twisted in agony with it, and my soul is screaming. It’s relentless, day after day and it is not getting any better. It seems to be getting worse every day.

Now, there is just a vast expanse of nothing, just an endless black void of space where my future should be

Before Mum’s funeral, I had to be focused. There were things to do and organise. Now, there is just a vast expanse of nothing, just an endless black void of space where my future should be. I am trying to keep occupied, to distract myself, and to fill the space, but nothing can distract me for very long.

I know it will get better but that doesn’t lessen the pain of grief right now

People keep saying that it will get better. Of course, it will, and I do know that. I have the benefit of eight years in recovery, learning that things pass. However, right now, that is of little comfort. It’s like someone suffocating you with a pillow and telling you they will only do it for ten minutes and then they will let you breathe again. Knowing you will be able to breathe in ten minutes does not stop your suffocating lungs from burning at that moment.

The Temptation To Push The Self-Destruct Button

If anything, I am cursing my recovery right now because I have an overwhelming desire to push that big red fuck it button. I know all too well the beautiful numbness that would come with a bottle of whiskey. I want to run a blade across my skin so as to feel the release of my insides screaming. But my inner voice of reason won’t let me act on these impulses and that in itself is filling me with anger.

I want to take my hands off the wheel and explode in a spectacular reign of fire as I crash and burn.

My recovery is like owning a car that pulls to the right, which means I must always work my recovery to correct it. However, right now I want to take my hands off the wheel and explode in a spectacular reign of fire as I crash and burn.

Every time self-destructive thoughts flood in, they are accompanied by my well-oiled recovery voice, speaking sense and reassuring me that this will pass. Its as if I am split in two and right now I want to punch that sensible me in the face. I wish I had never entered recovery because then I could just get on with self-destructing without being consciously aware of the repercussion and its futility.

Its OK to Not Be OK

As you can probably tell, this is not one of my positive posts. This is not a post where I write all of this and then tell you all how I am looking after myself to make sure I don’t headbutt that shiny red overly tempting fuck it button. This is just me, raw and unedited, telling it like it is. How it is, right now, is a gigantic relentlessly painful mess. I miss my Mum so much.