A story of GRIEF.
*NOTE* This post contains talk about death. Nothing graphic, but wanted to give a content warning. I debated about publishing it, but hey, I talk about nearly everything else.
Grief, it’s a weird thing. It’s a journey that is as individual as a person. It’s a crazy rollercoaster that I’m currently riding. Realising I have aphantasia has made me think that the reason why I take so many photos is so I can remember. So, me, being me, I’ve taken to documenting this journey in images.
In February my best friend and partner passed away. To say the loss was devastating is a bit of an understatement. It’s been 4 months and I’m still in this weird void and just trying to keep afloat. It’s turned my world upside down.
I didn’t take photos for ages. Just in a daze. The first photo I took of myself was the one above. I by chance glanced at myself in a mirror whilst out shopping and didn’t recognise myself. My eyes were dead. I was dead inside.
Cemeteries are beautiful and devastating. I took on extra rolls designing the programme and video so had to make an extra trip to the cemetery. I spent time just wandering around the gardens, watching the ducks. It’s so peaceful in a haunting way.
So many flowers. Again, beautiful but devastating. Watching these gorgeous blooms so full of colour and life fade away and die. I dried some, I pressed some and when they were starting to droop a little I made a bouquet and put them outside with a ‘free to take and enjoy’ sign. I couldn’t watch them die too.
Funerals are weird. They’re a celebration of life, a time of mourning, a final goodbye. Planning one and making decisions are hard and not something I thought I’d have to do. I mean, I guess I figured I would one day, but more for my parents or that. I hate that the first 3 words in funeral are FUN. There is nothing fun about funerals.
Planning an outfit for a funeral again, hard. You really do question everything. I think it’s also a way of not thinking about everything else. I chose the dress I first met them in, my pink Docs and an Erstwilder brooch gifted to me from Kate.
Bills, bills, bills. One thing death is is expensive. If you live with the person, you have rent and bills to cover. Then funeral costs, ambulance bills, all these other bits and pieces. If it wasn’t for my parents I don’t know where I’d be. It’s easily been $5000 not including funeral costs.
Crying. Crying on the bus. Crying in the cinema. Crying during a musical, concert, in the bath, at your psych. Basically, lots of crying. I hate crying in front of people but I had to get over that because I couldn’t really help it.
Drying the flowers I was sent.
Crying in shirts. Every time I’d have to go through things, pack things, I’d end up having a good cry.
Packing. Having to go through someone else’s things is weirdly voyeuristic, packing up their bedroom and deciding what to do with their things was super hard. Do I keep this? Should I donate it? Making piles for the family, for their ex. Going through my own things and finding reminders was heartbreaking.
Getting help. Seeing my psych has been a lifesaver but expensive. I’m going to look into grief counselling. I need it but also scared to do it. I am struggling a lot with PTSD and think it would help, but opening up and reliving it scares me.
I’ve been taking time to spend time with friends, live life, try and move forward. It’s hard because all my plans had revolved in some way around them and I’ve had to start fresh. Be just me again. But who am I without them? It’s hard to not be able to just talk to them and tell them things. I talk to the air around me, I write things down in a dedicated journal.
I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know if I’ll talk about this more, keep going with these images, if I’ll even keep blogging. Knowing me, probably. This blog is a great way for me to express myself in many different ways. I do keep Instagram updated more frequently though.