I grieved recently. The process was intense and unpleasant, and it helped me a lot. In this essay, I’ll talk about my experience and my theory of why it was good for me.
Some background context: my friend broke up with me around a year ago. I had expectations for the future, a vision for our life together. I’m sad about losing those. I didn’t want to be sad. I clung to her for palliatives to keep the sadness at bay: sex, time together, reassurances. The pressure hurt her. I started trying to push the sadness down so I would stop hurting my friend.
The other night, while spending time with her, something triggered an unexpected wellspring of emotion in me. I excused myself and left, to avoid making my feelings her problem yet again. As I walked home, the feeling manifested as rage. Rage at my circumstances, at the path that had led me here, and at myself. In a cruel irony, I was angry at myself for not being chill. Even so, I was tired of acting reasonable. Something had to change. I was going to make some Bad Decisions that night.
The confusion and rage and turmoil started boiling over. I wanted to break something or hurt someone, but I have a lot of practice controlling myself. Even as I deliberately let myself go, I kept the damage contained. I punched a tree until my knuckles bled, the violence and pain grounding me. I got home and started drinking, vodka left over from a party, straight from the bottle. My thoughts started turning toward self-harm, and I took the outside view. I called my brother to drive over and supervise me. His girlfriend came along as well, having accepted my condition that she was ok with me being scary. I finished off the vodka and rambled to my housemate as I waited for them to arrive. When they did, they took me out to a scenic viewpoint, far from any other people. I stepped out of the car and let loose a primal scream into the night sky. I raged and ranted and cried and writhed on the ground. I puked until I was empty. My brother took me back to our dad’s house, and set me up on the couch with a water bottle and a trash can. I quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.
When I woke up, the rage was gone. In its place, only sadness remained. As I lay there, sadness washing over me, I noticed something interesting: I was ok. The sadness was just sad, not bad. So, here’s my theory of grief. My sadness needed to know it had a voice, that it was allowed to exist. I showed it that safety by handing it the reins, letting it drive me for a night. In turn, my sadness rewarded the trust I showed it. I had feared that I needed to be happy, but when I let go of control and allowed my sadness to express itself freely, it turned out my fears were unfounded. I showed the worst of my grief, raw and wild and vulnerable, and I was still ok and loved. The process wasn’t pleasant, but I hadn’t broken anything important. Like turning to look at the unseen monster in a nightmare, my sadness became much less scary once I let myself fully feel it. When I stopped thinking of sadness as something I had to avoid, it stopped feeling painful to be sad.
Sometimes I’m gonna feel intensely, and that’s ok. I’m unrequitedly in love, and I’m sad about that. I don’t need to act to change that feeling, there’s no problem to be addressed. It was never my sadness that hurt me or my friend, but our attempts to avoid it. Here’s the really cool thing: if I don’t need to not be sad, I also don’t need to avoid what makes me sad. I can stop trying so hard and holding on so tightly, and dance through life with my heart unburdened. I won’t get everything I want, and I’ll be sad about that, and that’s fine. If it comes down to it, there’s always vodka and howling at the heavens. I’ve been there before, and I’m ok.
Thank you, grief. I’m sorry I spurned you for so long. Sadness is welcome in my heart.