One day, I might write some kind of book (you shattering me helped me realise that)

I want to write more things like my relationship post. I want to make people feel like they can relate their lives to mine. I want my understanding of emotion to shine out. So right now, I'm going to write about my current understanding of grief.

Admittedly, I still have a lot to learn when it comes to perfecting this style of writing. I think that will come with practice, patience and sheer acceptance that I'm not going to be the best at this - I can just try my best and hope it eventually means something to someone (whoa.)

There are no finite number of stages/repetitions-of-stages in this phenomenon we as english-speakers call grief. There are, however, quite obvious signs that you're effectively going through grief and you shouldn't be down on yourself for not quite functioning the way you hoped you would
(nb: none are relevant to self harm though, if this affects you, genuinely - talk to someone, please).

But - Endless reminiscing? This is ok! (you my grieving friend read on)

The fluctuating stages of grieving from loss

You're going to think sometimes that you're perfectly ok
You woke up fine. You had an appetite for breakfast. You have great things to look forward to today. Excellent. Too exellent? Anyway, not enough time to think of that. You get texts from good friends. You visualise your future. This is ok, you think. This is fine.

Four or fourty days in a row this 'ok' feeling makes an exceptionally volatile plummet 
The first few times you swing into the depths, you think "oh this is expected, I need to cry at some point". The 3rd time you start to feel frustratingly exhausted at the process of being sad. You listen to happy songs; or is it sad songs? You can't tell which you like better. You list the things and activities you were doing back when you were perfectly ok. "They're not different????", you think to yourself. You realise the homesickness will stay whether you are distracting yourself or not. You wait it out.

You picture the past without any criticism 
While you wait, you see the world you lived in before in colour. You place history on a pedestal. You discredit the potential for the future to bring you more. You visit old places, play old songs, think old funny thoughts. You wrap yourself around memories and convince yourself that letting go will hurt you in some way. (It won't)

You resent people who have what you don't
You think differently of them, and though you understand it's unwarranted, you can't help it. You wish they would understand what you're going through somehow. It's harsh. You know.

You think it's weird that somehow you're perfectly ok again
'What makes these days different?' you think this to yourself. You truly hope for the best on these days. You hope for the tunnel to open up into a bright bay straight onto a sunny, light-filled setting. During these particular instances, you also think this outcome could come true.

At some points throughout, shorter plummets happen infrequently, but are staggeringly severe
You're walking somewhere unfamiliar. You see something they would love. You pretend that noticing the particular thing is habitual; insignificant. You walk a few paces... No it wasn't. It was significant. You realise it's inconsequential now that you have noticed this thing. This hurts. You falter. You are not ok. You are pretty much debilitated, but only for a little while.

You feel like you need to change your life in some significant way to completely rid yourself of the longing.
This is the shedding of the past; the cliched drastic haircut. This is you convincing yourself that whatever lies behind you is too strong for you to resist falling back into. This conviction is wrong. You - in your own time - realise that stopping a particular habit/changing a specific room/chopping your hair does not erase the past. You, however, will realise that you are strong enough to resist falling backward regardless of the change.


There are quite a few more stages of varying degrees, and I'm by zero means an expert on pain (I have experienced very little compared to others). Sometimes I can't describe them at all (actually this is often) and also why my list is not as long as I wanted it to be. I hope you - whoever you are out there - feel less alone reading it though.

Relate as much as you need to/want to. I'm just glad I can share what I'm thinking.

Stay inspired, lovers.