It’s been a few weeks since my last post and I have been battling whether to post or not as I didn’t want my blog to be full of negative space. However the purpose of starting my blog again was to have a place to express my
thoughts whatever head space I’m in, so I could track my bipolar journey and hopefully help others feel less alone along the way.
So here I am… Albeit tentatively.
As you know my beloved grandfather died a month ago and I am struggling greatly with his absence. I know how to exist with depression, on a high at warp speed and in those particularly challenging mixed states. But grief, I have been lucky that before now I have never experienced it… Sure I know the grief of an absent parent who chooses to disown and abandon but loss through death? I can’t get my head around it… I don’t know how to feel or fundamentally how I feel.
I’m floating around through space and time, with days and weeks passing with no clear direction. My life has revolved around my grandfather for a long time and now that the funeral has passed and the tattoo I had planned in his memory now inked on my forearm, I don’t feel anymore closure than I did when I saw his body – His soul already wherever he decided best to settle, I’m thinking on a boat somewhere drinking rum with his old friends who too have passed, singing sea shanties and reminiscing about ‘the good life’.
My grief has been constant and heartbreaking. Worse than discovering a cheating partner or being told ‘I never loved you anyway’ and not in an upbeat The Corrs song sorta way. The grief is bitter sweet, you want to fill your head and heart with the memories yet in remembering comes the reality that there will be no more and that the finale was out of your control.
I am battling the grief like I’m Muhammad Ali and it’s the fight of the century… The bell keeps ringing, round one, round two… and I am that butterfly. Trying to keep the bipolar tendencies from tipping me over either edge… Trying to go to work, to keep a smile on my face, to be motivated enough to keep fighting it, even though the simplest of tasks like washing up, is draining my advances…
Round three, round four. And I am wondering when it ends, part of me doesn’t want it to, surely then his memory will fade along with it? I am fighting on yet fighting on in fear that I might break within the midst of other uncertainties, with broken health care support (3rd care co-ordinator in 6 months – cheers NHS!) medication changes, financial strains and so on.