I love it when people say, "Now you're over the shock..." or "Now that things are looking up..." or my pet hate right now, "It was all meant to happen for a reason..."
Like yeah. My house was meant to burn down and I was meant to lose everything I hold precious and I was meant to spiral downward into depression and grief and it was all meant because.... Oh shut up. Just shut up. It wasn't "MEANT" to do anything. It just fucking happened. It was a tragic fucking accident. Fucking tragic. Fucking accident. Fucking happened. Nothing magical, mysterious, supernatural or spiritual about it. IT... FUCKING... HAPPENED. End of fucking story.
And no, I'm not 'over it'. I'm not 'feeling better'. I'm not ' looking forward'. I'm still deeply grieving the loss of what was. And right at this moment there is no future. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to feel better about.
Don't get me wrong, I'm deeply and eternally thankful and grateful that I'm alive. I'm happy I got out with my skin relatively intact. I'm more than happy that my dear friend survived. And I'm ecstatic beyond belief that my Mister Tigger is here to head bump me every day and remind me constantly of the joys of living in the moment and sleeping in a patch of sunshine on the floor... I'm so very, very happy and grateful that I am here be-ing.
But I'm not over it. I may never be over it. It's triggered the PTSD from the last fire that destroyed my home and everything I loved thirty years ago. Yes, you read that right. The last fire... Sigh. So I'm struggling right now. I don't see the positive side of losing everything I own, everything I loved. Actually, there isn't a fucking positive side of that AT ALL, so please keep your well intentioned platitudes to yourself unless you too, have lost everything you loved in a fire and know that there actually IS a positive side.....
The anger is keeping me going. It's fuelling my physical stamina. The down side is when I collapse at the end of the day. Nobody sees me then. Nobody sees me prostrate with grief, screaming silently with tears running down my face, struggling to breathe against the weight of pain on my chest. Nobody sees me grieve. You don't see me sitting up at 3am wondering what's to become of me. Wondering how I'm ever going to ever have enough faith and confidence in this world to ever do anything again and knowing that this time age is against me. You don't see me struggling when images of my house burning down superimpose themselves against the darkness... and the light. You don't see the enormous toll on my health and my heart. You can go back to your lives and forget all about me and mistakenly assume that just because a month has passed, that I'm 'getting better'.
Please share my campaign. That helps.