It really was, you know. The last two weeks have been the hardest of my life. My trusty suppression of grief instincts - born and raised in the ashes of failed relationships - helped me make the phone calls that needed to be made, helped fill out the forms that needed filling, but, inside, I don’t think it’s helping much.
I had a pretty deep spiritual landfill inside myself somewhere, where I could put all my hurt, irritation, and general bad feelings and cover 'em up. It functioned fairly well, and I became known, amongst most of my friends, as the guy they could turn to in the crisis. You know, because I was “strong” and stuff.
But, bloody hell, it hurts right now. And I know it sounds like a bad pop-psychology cliche, but I think I forgot how to feel. I mean, I cried perhaps a half dozen times since my dad passed away two weeks ago today (it’s still Tuesday here in HI, FWIW), which, compared to my mom, is nothing. Yes, I know I’m not supposed to compare grief, like there’s some kind of prize for grieving the most, but it feels like I’m not grieving correctly, for chrissakes! Hell, it doesn’t even make sense to me!
And hell if I can remember the last time I felt truly happy… I mean, yeah, watching Buffy puts a smile on my face, but that’s hardly the same thing. Alcohol offers a blissful, if short, respite from all the pressure I feel building up inside, but the last thing I need now is to become an alcoholic, right?
Well, sorry to burden the boards with all this, but I have a bunch of “how are you doing” emails to respond to, and I figured I should get this all off my chest first, lest I worry somebody.