When the Mind goes Blank

It’s happening again. The dizziness. The echos. The blurry days. The deep pull inward. It exhausts you. It makes you want to lay down and relax your body. Relax your mind. Breathe. Rest. It entices you to stay in your bed. It tricks you to believe one solid night of sleep and you’ll be good tomorrow.

And then it has you. It takes you in. But inside is dark and hollow and dripping tiny specks of blood. And it’s all you hear—ting, ting, ting. Everything is blank. I don’t see red. I’m wishing for color. I see nothing. I feel nothing. And I hate this. And I know I hate it. And he knows I hate it, but it doesn’t care. Because grief really is a motherfucker.

I have lists made and goals set. I’ve been trimming my list down quickly and efficiently and I was making progress. I have things to do. I have shit to accomplish. I have a life to create. And then it circled back and crashed into me, yet, again. It won’t get out of my way. And it pulls me in, to the dark and hollow space, and locks the bricks on my legs and just sits there with a smile as I try to walk away.

It’s been studying me long enough to know that I can busy myself. I can distract myself. I can laugh while bleeding. I can wipe the tears from my kids’ faces while blood oozes from my gut. I can wipe my eyes and socialize. But it has learned there is a certain area on my chest and if he hunkers down long enough, the push down and the pull in will grab me. And I’ll fight it. He knows I’ll fight. I think he likes it. It makes him stronger; and his endurance is something to admire. His tenacity to stick with the dark for so long is something to applaud. And I’ll try to drown it. I’ll jump in water during the day and pour a drink at night. I’ll turn my music up and focus on its sound. But grief always knows the right song to play to keep you where he wants you. To have you move from dancing and smiling to laying and wondering. To turn your laugh into tears of sorrow. To take your hopeful eyes and pull them back and steal their shine.

Now there’s a completely new understanding of old expressions. They have clear meaning, but they’re not comforting. Misery does love company. Yes. And grief is its brother. There’s so many of us out there for him to torment. And while my heart is heavy for them, it also sadly brings me relief that he can’t stay heavy with me forever. He can’t. He has to make his rounds. He just needs to circle back and throw us down and make sure we never forget the subtle numbness only feels that way because we’re moving and we’re distracted. It’s actually not subtle at all. It’s encompassed our bodies; we are simply used to the feeling.

It’s a new, strange, and peculiar world and it’ll often feel so incredibly lonely. Because you were you, and then he entered, and now you’re you. And that’s just that. And that’s just how it is. And there’s nothing you can really do. You just have to take it as it is and move with it. Like a painful scar across your face, you become new with it.

So he waits for you to get there. To give in to him. To make eye contact. And he grabs you and holds you down. And then he releases the pressure just enough for you to breathe somewhat easier. To give you hope it’s subsiding. And then you stay there.

And you stay there.

And you hope that was the worst of it.

And you stay there.

And stay there.

Until you don’t.