it’s been a while, I know. it doesn’t mean that I’ve stopped thinking about writing or that I’ve stopped grieving. the 5 year anniversary is coming up and it has certainly been on my mind. august in general does this to me. august is when the shit hit the fan, when it all came pouring down. when the shitstorm unveiled itself in all its horrendous glory.

the hiatus has been happening steadily over the last 5 years. hm. that would be a very different kind of musical. i have these phases now, where I think I feel completely fine. where I’ve moved on, so to speak. where I can even find joy in the little things, find a sense of hope even.

then the next moment, it hits me and I’m back on the floor, drowning in tears. all figuratively, of course. I still function. somewhat. I still manage daily tasks. I get out of bed. I eat. I work. I watch tv. but in the back of my mind there’s the monster widening its smile, bearing its teeth, warming up its foreboding growl. its malicious laugh will soon emerge, I can feel it. then its bite. I know it too well.

I’ve noticed that I try to stay away from it, that I ignore it because I feel, hey, the world is a shitstorm anyway. what does it matter this grief of mine? compared to everything that’s wrong on this planet, my grief seems so incredibly insignificant, ridiculous, boring even. so unnecessary. people lose loved ones all the time. they are at war. they starve. they’re sick.

and so I go on living, ignoring the monster, ignoring the beast lurking in the back, ready to pounce.

like I’ve said, ignoring such intense feelings is dangerous. it can only lead to harm and to my insanity.

because the shitstorm does gather above me whether I like it or not. whether I notice it or not. it will come crashing down and then it’s goodbye kansas and there’s no yellow brick road.

geez. what’s with the musical references today?

so what happens is that I melt down and cry. cry as if I just saw Barbara close her eyes and breathe her last breathe. as if it only happened a mere moment ago. because that moment is so very real, so very present. no matter how many moments I have had in between, I have had since, the moment lives with me constantly.

it hits me. all of it. the sadness, the grief, the heaviness of the loss. then it all swims to the surface, the guilt that I have survived when clearly, she should have been the one alive instead of me. the guilt that I have forgotten her voice. that I don’t talk about her as often anymore. that I still manage to live a half-decent life despite her absence. that I’ve gotten used to her absence. that I have forgotten to want to text her or call her. because I have. I used to feel that urge every day, every minute of every day. now, it appears here and there. not even every week. it kills me. figuratively.

but figuratively or not, the stabbing pain feels real nonetheless and all I am left with is a teary cheek and the terrifying awareness that I will never ever see my sister again. the vastness of the notion that she’s gone and that she’s never coming back still leaves me staring into an empty space in front of me.

I said to saša the other day, when the crying fit happened, I wish she could send me fucking message that she’s ok. that I needn’t worry about her. that she’s in a better place.

but alas, all I am left with are my fading memories of her voice, her laugh, her embrace. and as small as that might seem in the grand scheme of things, I understand just how necessary it is to think about it, to write about it. it might not change the world on a big scale but it will make my own world just a tiny bit easier to bear. baby steps, right?

it sucks, the realisation that there is no real hiatus from grief. that it will always hurt, no matter how much time passes. time doesn’t heal anything. grief always lingers in a corner somewhere. sleeps. rests up for the next attack which is inevitable and unpredictable. hey, at least it’s reliable that way. a somewhat soothing thought in an otherwise turbulent state of mind, I guess.