I hardly thought about Izzy today. We were so busy all day today, I just didn't let it out.
I tried explaining this to Julia in the car yesterday, but I don't know if I did it very well.
I keep my feelings and thoughts about Izzy in a little box. The box is small and square. It is pink and tied with a green ribbon that has butterflies on it. I try to keep the box tightly tied to hold in my pain because if it catches me off guard I have a very hard time getting a handle on it.
When I am sitting down and writing, either on this blog, or in my journal, I take the lid off the box completely and let it all out. Sometimes when I am talking to someone that I trust, I let the lid come most of the way off. The box empties and then I get some relief.
While the box is closed, it's constantly filling. Memories of her. Thoughts of things I didn't get to do with her. Plans for things I would've done with her. Regrets for things I should have done. Promises I have made to God to get her back. Images from my imagination, what she would wear on her first day of school, her prom dress, her wedding dress.
Sometimes the box overflows before I have a chance to empty it on my own with some preparedness. This is the worst. It's like getting a shot. You know you're getting a shot. You scheduled the Dr's appointment. You signed the consent form. The nurse comes into the room with the needle. She says "Okay, we'll do this on the count of 3. One........ Two........." and then she stabs you. I know I have neglected my grief releasing duties. I have put it off. I can feel it seeping out of the cracks, but I assume I can at least make it home or later in the night, but no, it wants out now.
So then I have a mini-meltdown, cry and sob, if Duffy is there, I usually demand answers which he doesn't have for me. It doesn't last for long, then I choke it off, wipe my face and go on about what needs to be done.
I don't know if this method of coping is proper or healthy. I don't care. I have to work. I have to be a parent to Maddy and Abbey. I have to be a wife to my husband. I have to be a friend to my friends. I simply do not have the time, energy or desire to have a full-fledged breakdown. This said, I will not pretend that my deepest desire, on some occasions, is to get into bed, curl into a ball and cry. I can imagine not leaving the house, because it takes so much energy to function in society. Smiling and being friendly at work takes all the energy I have. But it's what I have to do, so it's what I do.
I tried explaining this to Julia in the car yesterday, but I don't know if I did it very well.
I keep my feelings and thoughts about Izzy in a little box. The box is small and square. It is pink and tied with a green ribbon that has butterflies on it. I try to keep the box tightly tied to hold in my pain because if it catches me off guard I have a very hard time getting a handle on it.
When I am sitting down and writing, either on this blog, or in my journal, I take the lid off the box completely and let it all out. Sometimes when I am talking to someone that I trust, I let the lid come most of the way off. The box empties and then I get some relief.
While the box is closed, it's constantly filling. Memories of her. Thoughts of things I didn't get to do with her. Plans for things I would've done with her. Regrets for things I should have done. Promises I have made to God to get her back. Images from my imagination, what she would wear on her first day of school, her prom dress, her wedding dress.
Sometimes the box overflows before I have a chance to empty it on my own with some preparedness. This is the worst. It's like getting a shot. You know you're getting a shot. You scheduled the Dr's appointment. You signed the consent form. The nurse comes into the room with the needle. She says "Okay, we'll do this on the count of 3. One........ Two........." and then she stabs you. I know I have neglected my grief releasing duties. I have put it off. I can feel it seeping out of the cracks, but I assume I can at least make it home or later in the night, but no, it wants out now.
So then I have a mini-meltdown, cry and sob, if Duffy is there, I usually demand answers which he doesn't have for me. It doesn't last for long, then I choke it off, wipe my face and go on about what needs to be done.
I don't know if this method of coping is proper or healthy. I don't care. I have to work. I have to be a parent to Maddy and Abbey. I have to be a wife to my husband. I have to be a friend to my friends. I simply do not have the time, energy or desire to have a full-fledged breakdown. This said, I will not pretend that my deepest desire, on some occasions, is to get into bed, curl into a ball and cry. I can imagine not leaving the house, because it takes so much energy to function in society. Smiling and being friendly at work takes all the energy I have. But it's what I have to do, so it's what I do.
I definitely understood what you meant. <3
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