Grief and self talk as ear worm

Attended my first death cafe the other night. I enjoyed it. And I realize I have so much unresolved and/ or unexpressed grief. I heard they had a mourning cafe so decided to try it out.

There was so much that was good about this café, but the parts that weren’t good I really got triggered by there were eight people in addition to one facilitator apparently there’s normally two facilitators, but one was not available that day and one of the group members talked so much took so much air time. I was really really uncomfortable and annoyed and the facilitator did absolutely nothing to reel them in so I decided to speak up and I didn’t handle it well and ended up alienating all the people that I just met and have been getting smiles and an encouragement from.

I’ve been feeling so low. Feeling every hit from the states. Fear and helplessness, despair over all the hurts to our planets, to the animals on the earth. Feeling like such a waste of life. Whistling the same tune really. I’m my own ear worm. 

That’s it. The same hateful talk searing my brain and my soul. The cruelty. It’s been so relentless and I guess unchecked it’s no longer words but also feelings. Dense clouds of depression saturating my being. I’m soaking in it *sing song* Relax it’s depression.

Fuck

I’m so torn about groups.  It was so painful to hear of the other folks’ losses. Burning my heart. At the risk of making myself sound heroic or something I have so much empathy and I listen so deeply it’s why I couldn’t do social work anymore. It was killing me. Still is.

That one group member is a man. And I was full of this rage as he spoke. It was so unfair. He hijacked the group and I wasn’t having it.  I don’t think I handled it well. I wish I could say I did. And all the group members rallied to his cause. I was the brand new unknown. Now of course I’m feeling like everything I’ve tried in my entire life has lead to self-alienation.

Jesus I’m angry.

And so fucking sad.

This well spring of sadness. It just doesn’t ever stop. 

I’m so lonely. So lonely.

No one calls me. I have a few friends who I text with. Yet we’re all suffering out here. We’re all drowning in dread and despair.

It’s all so very hard

Long time all at sea

 Not sure what title means but popped into my head. I’m 60 now. Unbelievable. Despair stalks me daily. It’s certainly persistent, the fucker.

Coming back to these pages after taking a couple writing classes, which I enjoyed. I know writing helps me and I met people who don’t appear to be living with depression which is an increasingly shocking idea for me to entertain. I just cannot imagine it.

Grief permeates me. And urine apparently. About 4 years ago I had a partial hysterectomy (still got them ovaries, yippee???) . Since then I’m a pee machine. Is it possible to pee my grief? As I’m so numb these days and rarely cry, is my body deciding to take things into its own hands ( laughs at self/ pun of sorts)? Is it helping me release grief by peeing. Sometimes 12x a night. That’s my personal record anyways.

So much grief. Losing my wee baby Nova, she was only 14 weeks. Never had a chance. If I was in the states I could be charged with murder, manslaughter, etc, such is the current states of their fucked up politic. 

I lost Nova as February 12 passed into the 13th in 2007. Or the 11th into the 12th? See my memory is really hole-y now too.

So much loss. And grieving things I never had. How can I lose what I never had?

Finished a ketamine assisted therapy program a month ago. The ketamine infusion part I think was helpful the group zoom therapy not so much. I lose any grounding in groups. Always so in tuned to others and their feelings and energy. So out of tune with me and my own.

My dog is 13. He’s in pain a lot.

My husband is 67. I’m pretty sure we’re negotiating a trauma bond and mostly do okay.

My parents are still alive. It’s tough for the both in so many awful ways.

That’s enough for now. Thanks for listening.

My First Time - Emotional Remoras

Having an off day day and thought this would be the best time to blog. I've been wanting too, mostly because I have so much crap swirling around in my altered brain and this seems like a good way to empty it out. Plus it's raining and windy out.

Some of my art.

I just reconnected with Homewood, a facility in Guelph Ontario where I received a lot of help, and realize I miss it there. I miss the safety I felt. Good and kind people.

I am angry about what has been robbed from my life, I didn't choose this. I try not to sound whiny but I have a right to my anger. I am certain PTSD and Depression meet the criteria for contagious (infectious sounds too positive).

I am a horrible friend because I am too afraid to commit, or to offer intimacy. I'm not good at sharing. And I'm convinced that everyone will betray me anyway. I get startled, irritated, defensive and paranoid with the slightest change in my surroundings. I have nightly terrors (I think this is where horror movies come from). I want love but I fear it will be taken away, so I keep those walls firmly installed.

I live on Vancouver Island, a staggeringly (is this a word? No bother I'll just make it up, our culture is replete with new words and budding wordsmiths) beautiful place, yet I hate the sunshine (hahhah! I bet you thought I was going to say rain!) it deepens my guilt. I have read and heard (been told) many times how guilt and shame are harmful feelings to carry around - but I didn't ask for them either, guilt and shame are like little emotional remoras. Virtueless little suckers.

When I challenge the guilt, I can find justification for all of the contributing factors. There is nothing positive that I cannot turn to a negative. My clouds are lined with lead.

WOW, I feel better already!

Well, I am an artist now, which really helps me. It's very meditative and there is little social demand. I can only last a little while around other people, then I start to get agitated and unfocussed, terror steals in and I get the urge to run away. Sometimes grocery shopping is pretty intimidating, especially as I have a gift for selecting the longest lines. My addictions are food and cheap clothing

I guess I want to say that I know there are many of us out there, living with these invisible carry ons. I know a lot of us live in isolation, literal or otherwise. Part of me wants to connect with others who share similar experiences and feelings, another part of me is terrified of being ridiculed and rejected. Yet I wish to write. I wish to hear from others. Being in Homewood helped me feel like there was a place I could belong, that I could feel trust again.

What do others think?