This is Me Trying – Different Context

Journaling… blogging… is there a difference? In my journal, I can be completely myself. In my blog, I try to save face. Oh, and of course, secrets.

I was on the phone with a dear friend the other day and I said, “Give me a topic to write about in my blog. Every time I try to write something, I end up writing about this grief.” My friend replied, “So? Why not?” I hesitated and said, “It’s too dark. Too real. I don’t want people to see me as weak.” She began to say, “It’s not weakness; it’s vulnerability. It’s okay to be-” then she paused and said, “Oh, sorry, I forgot who I’m talking to.”

We both giggled, but it got me thinking. I’ve been talking about this fear of being truly known for a long time without really addressing it. I’ve done nothing to improve it. (Well, not nothing, but not enough, I guess.) So, I’m going to combine the few blog attempts I’ve made in the past couple of weeks (those I didn’t want anyone to read) and add a few things from my journal.

This is me, putting myself out there, as me.

For the past month, I’ve been feeling utterly alone and lonely despite not having one minute to myself. I have been surrounded by people in a way I haven’t been in my life, I think. But still…

Let’s take a couple of steps back. As some of you know, my dear uncle passed away a month ago. I don’t have the best history in dealing with death, or endings in general. On top of that, my friendship with the closest person to my heart also ended a month ago. So, for the entirety of May and for the past week of June, I have been grieving. One thing I’ve learned is that grieving a living person isn’t that different from grieving someone who has passed away. Grief is grief, no matter the circumstances. (watch my new/coming show, where we explore all forms of grief through different characters and situations. Had to. business.)

Warning: This will be a long post 

(sorry, but you can leave whenever)

For the past few years, I’ve been trying to manage and control my emotions, reactions, and myself in general. This has led to an obsession with control. With these two incidents happening so close together, I’ve found myself completely out of control; and let me tell you, I fucking hate it.

These losses have left a gaping hole in my heart. I feel like I’m drowning in an ocean of sorrow, with no lifeline in sight. Each day feels like an eternity, filled with a relentless ache that never subsides. I wake up each morning hoping to feel a sliver of relief, only to be met with the crushing weight of unwanted thoughts. Despite being surrounded by family and friends, I’ve never felt more isolated, attacked by anxiety and fear. Their love and support, though well-meaning, cannot touch the depths of my pain. I am completely alone, not for a lack of trying on their part, but for a lack of trust on mine. I don’t talk… I don’t tell… and I have myself to blame.

But in the words of Lady Taylor; “this is me trying”

There’s this anger that has been simmering beneath the surface of my heart, growing stronger with each passing day. It’s not just anger; it’s a fiery rage that consumes me from the inside out. I’ve been trying to juggle family, work, and friends, but it feels like I’m failing at everything. For the past month, I haven’t had one day for myself, not even one hour. If you know me, you know how vital that alone time is to me. And I love everyone, I really really do, but I needed some alone time too, and even that, I felt I had no control over.

So the rage monster kept feeding off of every frustration, every unmet need, every moment of helplessness. And it has been growing. A few days ago, I began to notice how utterly not okay I’ve been. So, I decided to make some changes. The first change was to take a much-needed break from work. The second was to ask some of my friends for space. By doing this, I tricked myself into believing I was gaining some semblance of control.

But I didn’t like it— being alone. It made me feel lonelier than ever. The silence became deafening, amplifying my grief and anger. Every empty minute seemed to stretch into an eternity, and the solitude that I thought would bring me peace only deepened my despair. I was surrounded by the echoes of my own thoughts, feeling more isolated and disconnected from the world. And again, I found myself lost with the theme of this whole month being “I don’t know what to do.” 

I felt paralyzed, trapped in a body and mind that I no longer recognized. I watched helplessly as control slipped away, leaving me feeling powerless and desperate. I no longer recognized myself in the mirror. The person staring back at me was a literal stranger. Who am I? Where did I go? I felt like I was being erased, piece by piece, and I didn’t know how to stop it. A part of me left with my uncle and my friend, and I don’t know how to get it back. I feel incomplete, like a crucial piece of my soul is missing. Again, I did not know what to do.

So then, yesterday, the rage monster finally possessed me. I screamed, shouted, and hurt my family members in ways I never had before. Right now, writing this, I genuinely don’t even remember what I said. I only remember the faces of my mother, grandmother, and sisters—all crying because of me. Because of one silly little incident that happened at lunch. Their tears cut through me like shards of glass, each one a reminder of my failure to control this beast inside me. I spent the whole day in a state of uncontrollable rage and streaming tears. By the end of the day, I had fallen dehydrated, with my blood pressure through the roof, and my head spinning. I fainted. I fainted from rage. With everything that I have gone through in my life, I have never been in such a state. 

And that is why today, I made a decision: I’m going back to therapy. I cannot do this on my own. Too many aspects of who I am are being triggered. Fear of Abandonment, Control Issues, Anger Issues, Trust Issues… just to name a few. Too much is happening around me and, most importantly, inside me.

I realize now that with everything that happened, I’ve been avoiding facing this grief head-on and sitting with it. Instead, I’ve been running from it, distracting myself, and hoping it would fade away. But grief doesn’t work like that. It demands to be felt. And that’s why what happened yesterday happened. I had avoided confronting my pain, and it erupted in the most destructive way possible.

I need to be okay. I need to find a way back to myself, to reclaim the parts of me that have been lost. I need to heal. And I know I can’t do it alone. So, here I am, baring my soul to you all, hoping that in this raw honesty, I might find some semblance of peace.

Lady Taylor also says: “and I might be okay, but I’m not fine at aaaallll”

Anyway… take care, friends, and try to be better than me at opening up. 

Xoxo

FFB