Friday, January 23, 2015

Cracks & Grief

I've recognized a couple things this week...some chinks in the Jason Lustberg armor...

As the J, J, & r trio, we had hit our stride.  We functioned on a high enough level that we could stay afloat, manage our daily activities - work, school, play - and periodically address Jill's ever-growing to-do list to keep her on the side of sanity.

We fell into our (unconventional) roles to ensure we moved thru the world like a quasi productive family.  Certainly nowhere near perfect, but we kept up...with smiles.

Well, it's a new fucking day.  And as I've expressed to Rory on several occasions, (whether we want it or not), there's a new sheriff in town.  And this sheriff is still getting used to the weight and responsibility that comes w/ the badge.

Every time I make a mistake -

I double-book a play date...
I show up to school a day early to pick up Ro...
I leave a fucking tissue in my pants, it gets in the washer, and rewards me w/ dryer confetti...

 - the pressure I've applied to myself feels more acute.

Yes, I'm aware I've absorbed a handful of responsibilities that make my juggling act a bit more cumbersome.  But, I'm also aware that, no matter the number, these are my responsibilities and I need to learn to manage them.  Now.

Life's not going to wait until I get my shit together.  My shit needs to be together.  Now.

I tend not to give myself a break (or cut myself slack, as a dear friend of mine attempted to instill in me).  Jill knew this.  She would often stop me in the midst of my anxiety.  (Pick a moment, any moment.)  She'd point me in the direction of perspective.  And, ultimately, I'd find it, slow my breath, and move forward.

Well, now finding that direction is on me, too.

And shit's slipping thru the cracks.

As a general example, I'm not honoring the two-way friendship street.  You've checked on me.  Now it's my turn, right?  But, fuck if I can't get myself to do it.  I'm a bit scattered in the head.

I'm not centered.  As much as I'm trying to get there thru meditation, running, etc., I'm off.


Which leads me to my grief.

How grief manifests itself is both complicated and intriguing to me.

Ignorantly, I've expected grief to come in the form of periodic tears, spells of anger, and other clearly defined moments.  And, sporadically, this proves itself to be true.

But, I think the ignorance surfaces b/c I assumed that when the tears dry up, grief goes to the sideline.  It waits until I decide to call it back in for another round.

However, from what I can gather thru endless self-analysis, I don't control the grief.  Moreover, the grief doesn't have an 'off' button.  It's a constant churn that hums inside me every waking and sleeping moment.  Every moment of every minute of every day.

Right now grief has a tight grip on me.

I think this is why I can't seem to get enough sleep in a night...or a day.  Unbeknownst to me (until today, I think), the grief is feeding on my energy.

And I'm fucking zapped.

So, what do I do?  Fight the grief?  Why?  What good will that do?  I imagine it just needs to run its course.  You can't force grief out of your system.  Well, maybe you can try.  But, I can't imagine it's beneficial to do so.

Instead, I'll choose to (continue to) coexist w/ my grief, accept it for what it is, and attempt to cope.

That's what Jill would want.

All love,

J, J, & r

Real quick...despite what you may read into this post, this is not a cry for help or a poorly veiled attempt at getting a 'you're doing the best you can under the circumstances' note.  I don't expect them.  I don't need them.  Like all of my previous posts, this is just a space for me to express my thoughts.  I'm just grateful that you continue to read, share, and maybe even relate to (some of) them.

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