Tag Archives: loss


Sadness hangs from me like overripe fruit from a tree. Why must we lose people. Thus leads to the question: what’s the point of it all anyway; if we lose everyone in the end, including ourselves, then what could possibly be the point.

Sadness. It overwhelms. I feel as though I’ve met my quota of loss for one life. I cannot possibly handle any more. And yet, according to statistics, I have over half (or possibly even two thirds) of my life ahead of me. Future loss of close individuals is inevitable. And yet, it feels overwhelmingly intolerable. I cannot lose another soul who I care about. Does this make me weak? Overly sensitive? Human?

Perhaps my heart is too fragile. More fragile than most?

Sadness. Runs down my sides like water from a beautiful fountain. And yet I’m not beautiful am I. And neither is my sadness. Cruel, perhaps. But not beautiful. And me? Just another casualty of an over-hardened world.

Please accept my apologies: I’m feeling a bit overly sensitive tonight. And, as if it weren’t glaringly obvious, weighed down with sadness.



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Lonely Wednesday

Today I am feeling overcome with loneliness. I’m also having paranoid thinking that everyone who normally reads my blog (with the exception of one or two) has drifted off with the wind. That I have lost them somehow. This is probably not the case, but it’s something I am so fearful of happening that sometimes the fear bleeds over and threatens to make itself seem like a reality. Perhaps my regular commenters are just taking a little respite from reading?

Why does this idea scare me so. To lose my readers. I don’t know. And yet the idea absolutely terrifies me. Almost as though this is the only thing I have left, and if I lose this, I lose everything. Why should it matter though is what I’m wondering. Perhaps it’s days like today where I’m feeling particularly alone and vulnerable is when I feel I need my close-knit little support group near, cheering me on. And even saying this sends huge waves of guilt through me, because, how dare I want anything from anyone. How totally and completely selfish of me.

Ugh. So yeah. My mind today is presenting me with all sorts of fun challenges as you can see.

I think I’m having a day where I’m just feeling a huge sense of loss for all the people I have lost in the last few years, and it feels like quite a few. Several of those being people I could, at one time, call my closest friends. How is it that one’s closest friends can just up and leave. Fade. Vanish. Walk away and never look back. I don’t understand.

The pain in my heart of these losses is enormous. It makes me want to cling to the small handful of people I have left. And then I wonder how confident I can be that these people won’t slowly drift away either. Because that’s what people seem to do isn’t it.

Don’t mind me, my mind is just having one of its very sad and heavy days.


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The Death Of All Feeling

I attended a friend’s memorial service today. This was the friend who I wrote about who had committed suicide. It was a beautiful service, and even though I didn’t know her very well (she was the partner of a friend), I feel I got to know her in many ways through the people who talked and shared stories about her today.

During the service though, I felt something stirring inside. What it was, I cannot exactly say. But if I were to try to describe it, it was an though numbness descended on my mind, like a net, trapping all my feelings and emotions underneath it. Perhaps a net isn’t the best analogy, since nets are porous and you can see through them. Maybe a thick tarp might better describe it. A think heavy tarp that has blanketed my mind with nothing but numbness.

I can feel the (mystery) emotions just underneath this tarp of numbness, kicking and fighting to get out, but the tarp is wrapped around them tightly, and they are not able to escape. What feelings are these that are trapped? you might ask. I wish I knew. I really don’t have a clue.

Sadness perhaps that my friend felt she had lost all hope. Anger perhaps that the world let her down, and that depression had won. Guilt perhaps that I hadn’t reached out even though I knew she’d been struggling. Envy perhaps that she (hopefully) was able to escape the pain of life. Worry perhaps that her partner will be okay and won’t burden herself with guilt. Resentment perhaps that her doctors and therapists and psychiatrists didn’t help her adequately.

These are all guesses. I cannot actually feel my feelings at the moment – any of them – but intellectually those thoughts are where my mind takes me. So perhaps those are some of the feelings trapped under the numbness.

Will I ever feel these feelings? I know several days after the suicide, I had big feelings come up. Lots of sadness. Lots of tears. But that’s the only time I’ve been able to feel anything pertaining to this person’s death in the last several weeks since her death. Will the feelings ever return?

I sit in the numbness and feel robotic. I have descended into the depths of where unfeeling creatures dwell. It’s as though all of my humanity has left me and in its place is only the hardened rock of my heart. How I long to feel human again.


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Where to now

When all is lost and all is forgotten,
Where to now
When hope has left and the house is now empty,
Where to now
When shattered dreams haunt your waking days,
Where to now
When everyone you’ve ever loved is gone,
Where to now
When loneliness shrouds your heart in darkness,
Where to now
When life has abandoned you again and again,
Where to now.

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What Do I Know

I’ve been writing all these posts analyzing the loss of this friendship. How it happened. Why it happened. What was my role in it.

What do I know? These words are meaningless. The plain and simple truth is that I lost someone. They were there one day, and the next day they were not. Nothing else matters. No amount of thinking or analyzing can change the fact that I no longer have this friend. They are gone. And this reality fills me with pain, anger, and sadness. It was beyond my control. And I hate things that I can’t control. I hate that this happened. And I hate that there was nothing I could do about it.

How is it that one day someone can be one of the most important people in your life, and then just like that, at the snap of a finger, they are gone. Apparently it wasn’t like that for this friend. It had been building over time. She needed to get away. But why didn’t she tell me. Why didn’t she say something before it was too late.

It’s too much for my brain to comprehend. Too much pain, too much sadness, too much loss. I suppose I’m acting like a “victim” right now and dwelling in my loss, I don’t know. I don’t really care to be honest. Loss is loss and pain is pain. And I can’t make it go away, so I’m letting go of the judgment. Keeping it hidden and trapped inside will only make it worse. I thought I was a good friend. Perhaps I wasn’t. At least I know I tried to be a good friend. I will hold onto that knowledge…. I gave it my best and I gave it my all. And I’m not perfect. Nobody is.

And with that, I am letting go.

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As many of you have read, I have endured a tremendous loss recently of a friend. It was one of the most painful losses I have suffered, not so much because I have lost this person (which would be painful in itself), but how it happened. I have been trying to focus on myself these last several days, and I’ve really been trying to do things that make me happy. I went for a hike with my hiking group yesterday, for example. Then I came home and took a bath. These things made me quite happy. I also went to see a movie with a friend last night in the theaters. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a movie in the theaters, and it was nice having that sense of escape.

However, I very much still think about the person who was a huge part of my life these last six months or so. A whole mix of feelings have been going through me. Pain, sadness, confusion, anger, frustration, and helplessness to name a few. It is hard enough losing someone. But to have the rug of your friendship pulled out completely from underneath you, especially when you least expect it, well… that was the hardest part I think. Actually I take that back. That was hard. But then what transpired after that was even more painful. The angry words. The accusations. The meanness. It’s been really hard not retaliating. Holding my tongue. Taking a step back and telling myself that it’s not worth it. The friendship is over, so what would be the point of jabbing back. Of trying to defend myself and refuting everything this person is saying about me. There really is no point, and it would only make matters worse. It would only fuel the fire. That’s the last thing I want. I want to put out the fire, so that I can heal. I have to let her go. But it’s not easy.

My anxiety has calmed down quite a bit since I took a break from coming online and blogging, etc. I think that the internet, particularly places this friend visits, felt unsafe and was keeping me in this panicked state. I needed to pull back and let my body calm down and recover. By continuing to post and read her posts, I was keeping myself triggered and not letting myself get to another place with all of it. I was staying in the trauma of the dysfunctional relationship. Because I see now our relationship was dysfunctional.

Which isn’t to say that we couldn’t have fixed it, or at least tried to fix it. I think what was happening at the end was that the both of us were feeling like we had to be there for the other person 24/7, in case that other person needed them. It was a very co-dependent way of operating, and it wasn’t helpful (or health-ful) to either of us. What neither of us realized, I think, was that we were both feeling that way. That we were both feeling worn down. That we both were feeling overwhelmed by the friendship. That we were both feeling sucked dry. And yet this person, rather than deciding to verbalize how they were feeling, and ask for some space (or whatever it was that they needed), instead decided to end the friendship very hastily. And when I tried expressing my feelings of hurt about that, I was lashed out against and being accused of ignoring her feelings as well as playing the role of the “victim.”

I have had people verbally attack me in the past, and end friendships suddenly like this, but I have to say it has been many many years since something like this has happened. I have really made an effort to cultivate healthy and positive relationships, ones where people want to and are able to articulate the difficulties they are having with me, or with the friendship, so we can attempt to work them out. This obviously didn’t happen here.

I may not be posting as much, at least for the next little while, and I hope you can all understand why. I am needing to really focus on myself at the moment, and trying to heal the hurt from this loss, and it’s not going to happen overnight. I apologize for being a bit out of touch lately. Especially to those people who I usually follow and comment on your blogs. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just I need time to focus on myself right now. That is my priority at the moment.



I would like to share with all of you a flower that I found recently on a walk. It was just sitting there on the sidewalk. It had fallen from a bush overhead. These flowers were growing wild, if you can believe it. I just thought it was so beautiful, I just had to pick it up and take it home. This is something I’ve been trying to do lately: focus on the little things that I think are beautiful and that make me happy. Hope you can all appreciate this flower as much as I do.



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Whitney Houston and dissociated grief

Last night I had an interesting experience that I would like to share, and that subsequently got me thinking about dissociated emotions, and in this case specifically, grief.

I was “saddened” to hear about Whitney Houston’s death. I put saddened in quotation marks, because I’m not sure if I was really sad, or if I was thinking that I should be feeling sad when I really wasn’t. You see, when it comes to sadness and grief, I feel very little. Often I will watch a sad scene in a movie and think, “that is sad,” but feel nothing, while my partner is sitting next to me balling her eyes out.

It’s not that I don’t feel sadness, it’s just that the feeling of sadness is compartmentalized. Often, when it does come up, it comes up seemingly out of the blue and unexpectedly.

What happened last night was, my partner and I were getting ready to watch a movie. She turned the news on while I was finishing up doing what I needed to do. The news was covering further details of Whitney Houston’s death. As the coverage continued, I felt this pressure pushing up from inside my body. I didn’t know what it was or why it was happening. All I knew is that I needed to turn the tv off – NOW. However, I felt that was silly, and talked myself out of it, and the news coverage continued while the pressure inside me became intolerable. Finally I did take action, and said very abruptly, can we turn this off please??? My partner, a little taken aback, said, “I was just waiting for you to be ready.”

I sat down, and the next thing I knew, I was sobbing and repeating over and over again, “I love her so much. I love her so much. I’m so sad.”

Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. All sadness, all grief, every last little feeling got swept up into the vacuum of my mind. It’s like turning off Niagara Falls at the press of a button. I grabbed the remote control, and said to my partner, “Okay then, let’s watch this movie.”

My partner, who had been acting very lovingly during my twenty-second sobbing outburst, said, “It’s okay, we don’t have to rush anything. There’s no rush.”

What she didn’t know was that I wasn’t rushing. I had been thrown into the sadness and grief, and I was flung out of it, into the same state I was right before it happened: ready to watch the movie. There were zero traces of sadness left in my consciousness. Not even a single thought to Whitney Houston. Just a desire to start watching this movie.

Had there been an observer there, invisibly watching the scene, they may very well have ascertained that I was intentionally trying to “shove down” those feelings that had come up. There was no shoving down. None of this was even voluntary.

And that’s what I’m trying to get across – for someone who has their emotions compartmentalized through dissociative mechanisms, their experience of emotions feels chaotic, unpredictable, and overwhelming. I don’t simply “feel” sadness, I am flung into sadness. I don’t simply “feel” anger, I am flung into anger. My emotions pounce on me like a tiger pounces on a sheep.

The truth is, it would make sense that I would have big feelings about Whitney’s death. She was my childhood idol. I looked up to her, I revered her, I worshiped her. Her album “Whitney” was the first cassette I ever owned. However, ever since hearing of her death, I’ve felt completely numb. Devoid of any feeling or emotion. I thought the obligatory “sad thoughts” but it wasn’t genuine. It wasn’t rooted in anything substantial. Those twenty seconds of intense grieving sobs were rooted in something substantial. Something deeper. But just like that, they were taken away from me. Where did they go?

I had a similar experience last summer, my birthday weekend actually, where I got in touch with feelings regarding the death of my grandmother. My grandma, who I was extremely close to when I was younger (closer than to my own mother, in fact), died when I was thirteen. However, any feelings of sadness in relation to her death are absent from my mind. Additionally, any feelings of love and connection to her are also missing from my mind. When I think of her I feel absolutely nothing. Which is a tragedy unto itself.

One afternoon last year, I became a broken teenager mourning my grandmothers death. I spent several hours on the phone with my therapist balling, sobbing, telling her, “I miss my grandma, I miss my grandma. Why did she have to die.” As though she had just died days ago. That’s how real and how raw those emotions were.

After having spent two days in bed, crying for my grandmother, I continued on with my life as though those two days had never happened. I was completely detached and disconnected from it. Those feelings, that younger-feeling part of me, that state, had come on like a wave, and it had left like a wave, leaving me in pretty much the same place as before it came.

In some ways, I wish I could be more in touch with my feelings. Sometimes my lack of connection with people and places of my past leads me to feel empty, hollow; like a shell; like a phony. Because I can tell people how much I love them, and I can tell people how much I miss them, but when I really think about it… do I? How do you know, if those feelings are perpetually just beyond your reach, somewhere in the periphery of your mind where your conscious self doesn’t have access.

Whitney, thank you for all you have given me. For your life, for your enthusiasm, for your charisma, for your music. You died too soon. Way too soon. I wish I could rewind the tape to last night and go back into that sadness and grief that I felt ever so briefly, because your death deserves to be recognized properly, and felt properly. And I wish it could be by me. But… for now I will hold you in my memory, and your songs will be circling in my head, I am sure, for many weeks, and months, and years to come. R.I.P. young soul.



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