There’s been so much I’ve wanted to say, so many thoughts I’ve needed to express, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to write anything down. Over the past month, I’ve found myself in a depressive state, where the world felt dark, I felt broken and what I loved doing most in the world no longer brought me joy or relief.
Writing is connected to my emotions, so if my emotions are out of whack, then I find myself unable to write. However, I am usually able to write about my feelings, but I wasn’t even able to do that over this month. For some reason, writing felt futile and my words did not seem like enough — they would not fix the pain I felt or make me feel any better about myself.
Losing my grandad has brought me more pain than I ever imagined and I feel like a part of my heart is now missing, buried deep in the ground with my grandad. Not having his presence in my life is proving a lot to get used to, especially as I find myself doubting my own being.
I’ve not only found myself grieving over my grandad, but I’ve also lost a lot of belief in myself and begun doubting everything I set out to do. Again, I thought of myself as not good enough, not capable, not up to the standards I set for myself.
I was tired of the world, ready to give up hope and isolate myself from everyone. I didn’t want to interact with the people in my life, I didn’t want to see anyone and there was no way I was leaving my house unless I was going to work. I simply wanted to be alone, because you can’t be hurt or let down that way, but that isolation just brought me more sadness.
As the dark cloud started to lift and people began saying things that seemed to relate to my situation, I saw that I couldn’t just give up because things weren’t going positively or the way that I wanted them to. I refuse to be the person who walks away at the sign of failure, otherwise I’ll never be a success.
It’s not been easy and I know it’s not going to get any easier — it’s been a struggle adjusting back to reality and the thought of getting back out there is still daunting for me. And last Friday, when I wrote for the first time since my grandad’s death, I found myself feeling strangely fearful, as if the right words wouldn’t come to me or as if I’d lost my writing mojo. Yet once I did it, I felt good and realised that like most times, I had nothing to fear.
To sum it up, I’m a mess who’s trying to fight through and allow myself to be fixed by the God I love and trust. However, I need to keep reminding myself of why I’m doing what I’m doing and not allow myself to give up, in spite of the failures, dark days, hurt and pain. I just want to be the woman God intends for me to be and make my grandad proud, because I know he wanted the best for me.