I hate you, Grief.
You are an evil bastard.
I hate how you torment me.…
I wish you would just f*ck off.
I wish you would just f*ck off with your sick sense of humour and little happy dances. It’s not funny, and why the f*ck does it make you happy? You are sick.
You have taken everything away from me. My son. My pregnancy. My hopes, my dreams.
I hate you for everything you do to me. I hate you for everything you continue to do to me.
I don’t want to accept you.
You are a heavy weight to bear, Grief.
You insist on piggy backs. They are no ordinary piggy backs, though. You grip on tight to my shoulders and my hips, and your claws dig in. Your talons creep in under my skin and weave around my whole body. It hurts, Grief.
Not only do I have the emotional pain to deal with, I have the physical pain, too. The aches. The tiredness. Feeling so heavy. Weary. Like walking through a fog of treacle.
The emotional pain is awful, too, but in my head is where Hugo is, with the memories. I need that to stay. The physical pain can go, though.
My guiding star walks with me. It tries to take my hand, but it cannot because both my hands are wrestling with the evil malevolent force on my back.
My guiding star tries to lighten the load for me. Steer me. Teach me that the H word (happy) can be used without guilt.
My guiding star wants to offer me comfort, to stroke my hair, tell me that I am doing great. Surviving.
My guiding star wants to offer me comfort so my grief doesn’t consume me. So that I can learn to be kind to myself. To honour Hugo’s memory. Channel my little feisty boy’s energy. To thrive.
I want to take your hand, my guiding star. But to do that means stopping wrestling with the grief on my back.
Does that mean it wins? I can see Grief grin.
Actually, you know what? I have two hands. I can wrestle Grief with one, hold your hand, Star, with the other. Grief in the one hand, comfort in the other. We could operate in tandem.
Ha! See, Grief, I could do it too.
Not today, maybe not tomorrow, or next week….who knows when.
It would be great if wrestling you with one hand only, Grief, would make me less tired.
Oh, it doesn’t quite work like that?
That just wants to make me wrestle with you more.
I don’t want you to win. I don’t want you to consume me. I want to reach out to the Star.
Rage, rage, rage.
A raging vicious circle.