A Book Nerd's Inner Voices

Drop In The Ocean

I heard once that grief was like the ocean. It's deep, dark and bigger than us all. When I think of grief, the first thing that comes to mind is death. The loss of someone from this world forever, taken from their loved ones, never to be seen again. This loss is terrible, the emptiness vast as the hollow ache in your heart takes root. But for a lot of people, death is easier to get over than other types of grief. There is nothing you can do to change it. You have no choice. You either move on or perish with them.





But there are so many types of grief. The loss of someone you love is hard. It's even harder when they leave by choice. How many holes can riddle a heart before it is broken beyond repair? How many pieces can be given away before there's nothing left to give? For some, a loss like that is something they leave in their past. They accept it and move on. I'm not that strong. When I give someone a piece of my heart, be it family, lover or friend, it is a gift. It's not something I take back, so when they're gone so is that part of me, leaving me with an emptiness in its place.





Everyone becomes someone else around different people. There is one person, or a group of people, who inspire you to bring out a different side. A facet, if you will. Sometimes you're studious, carefully taking notes; flirtatious, just because it's fun. Other times you may be serious because you have responsibilities or goofy and childlike because you just don't care what the world thinks. What amazes and at times astounds and confuses me is that I can't always seem to find that person without the one who inspires it. Lately I've found that I miss being happy and carefree. Even when I had things to worry about, people counting on me, I found that I could look at the world as warm, caring and full of wonder. I had a childlike curiosity that bubbled to the surface in a giggle -- though not as annoying as that sounds. But now, I can't seem to find it. So I find myself missing that one person who always made it possible. One of my biggest faults is that when that person goes, something in me dies. That facet hides itself away and only an echo remains, just waiting to be awoken. The one who brought out the side of me that embraced and enjoyed life down to the last drop is gone. Once, the girl who could look at the stars with wonder, find the one that I was looking for and forget that I could see no other in the vast sky beyond, refused to be silenced. Now I can't find her voice.





That's the personal loss that comes when someone leaves. At least for me. But what about the rest? There were nights after I lost the boy I dated in college, after I left him because I knew we were toxic for each other, that I would crawl up onto my roof and cry for hours. Horrible, heart-wrenching sobs that would rock my entire body until I had to curl up around myself just to keep the pieces from shattering into the night and blowing away on the slightest breeze. I was afraid I would never stop crying, that the pain would never dissipate.





People always say that the pain and garbage, the aching that comes with loss and heart ache is part of the healing process. Part of letting go. People are wrong. It's just pain and garbage. The healing happens when you decide to get up and start living your life again.





It's hard. Believe me. But it is possible. Life is worth living. Even on your darkest days you have to remember that there is a reason to get up. Grief may be an ocean, dark and deep and bigger than us all. You just have to learn to swim.