Make something pretty of it

I have always been a stone when it comes to grief except for in the privacy of my own home. In fact, you could look closer and see that I too... snap. It's because grief comes in many forms. I was told I was small when I was little, became a self-sacrificing martyr with a saviour complex as a teenager.

I've never been trusted to make decisions for myself, I haven't been valued as a person with needs and gifts of their own for a majority of my life I had to force that. Until very recently... my decisions were met with hesitancy and doubt rather than support. My gift to my family was that I was the hardened one. The guard dog that needed a muzzle because it talks too much and has aggression issues. Crazy. Impulsive. Angry. 'Too much', weird, freak - That's me.

I became a stone. Numb. Put myself in places purposefully to bear witness to the worst parts of the world. Allowed myself to take on initiations that should have been mine later in life. Let myself become a statuette of hell. I became a stone. Especially around extremely traumatic experiences. After coming to terms with death and pain there is nothing you can do but continue on afterwards. Even if it comes with complex migraines.

Why even give myself the option to grieve? I just turn it off and transmute it into work. I could be beaten, assaulted, ruined one day and go on like it never happened. My current disassociation issues are the result of a forced technique I used to not only be, liked (nobody likes the angry girl), but to be able to see and handle anything. Mentally training to be fit for a gruesome battlefield.

You know...until I can't buy cigarettes because my license is expired, on a day I truly need one, after going through a hard time and losing a bit of my footing. Then all people see is a crazy person having a bad day. People make assumptions, most people don't understand grief until a day they have the same luck after a streak of it.

My biggest fear is being small and being a child. Isn't that ridiculous?

I've hated feeling small since I was small. I always wanted to be big, to have some autonomy. I wanted to have lots of money, to be able to make big decisions, to change the world. The bigger... the better. I wanted to be able to protect others as a way to make amends with myself for the times I couldn't protect myself and the people I loved when I was little.

It's life's great comedy... I have always felt like a lost little girl. I wasn't really allowed to talk about things. I was moved schools the times that I did or taken away from those who wanted to help when I spoke. So, I didn't have a guide.

I do self-isolate because I have found that the only guide I have ever had, is curiosity. So when things do seem to be going downhill, I look internally for the answers.

Sometimes I feel like I have been cursed with just a bad luck. A lower caste if you will. A 20 year dark night of the soul. Sometimes I wish I knew what the exact purpose of it is. But this path is mine. I take responsibility for it. This pain, my rite of passage. I hold a big space in my heart for the younger versions of me. I'm not a child anymore, I am a black widow, a scorpion, a guard, the rough and tumble one, the hardened one with a really soft heart.

I knew how to succeed at anything since I was a little girl, but like any girl, I wanted to be liked and if I excelled too fast, I would have been hated. Much to my dismay, I wasn't much liked anyways. Still am not, it just doesn't bother me much anymore. I have honour... I have a soul. I'm just a little cold.

Sometimes I do have to humble myself, like today. This isn't a movie where I am the only main character... and if it is, then it's a modern fan-fiction of Dante's Inferno. There are many main characters here. But my rage can make me feel like I am the only one that actually exists.

I do know some important things though, I was born with medusa's curse. Meaning that those who hurt me due to desire and lust do feel the burden of their choices and think about it for years. Like a little venom in their heart, they feel truly sorry when I am gone. I will always be there, just like a little piece of them stay with me. I turn a part of them to stone...They aren't blind to that. It is kind of a light that shines on their ignorance.

Yes, the path of the wrong side of the coin. I know the path to heaven is through hell, and the quick ways to heaven land you in hell later.

If I can help anyone with anything...

If you're ever feeling lost, or you're grieving... don't be afraid to sit with it. Don't be afraid to be scared. Don't be mad at yourself for feeling. It's a rite of passage we all have to face. Grief is a form of love. It's really beautiful actually. Being hardened isn't a gift. It's a skill sure, but it's no gift. It's an incredibly large responsibility and a curse.I promise.

"There's a crack in the pavement, call the florist and make something pretty of it" - The Florist by Abby Sage.

If you're a man btw, unless you're commenting from your grief don't even bother commenting on this post. This one is for me, I don't need a perverted Daddy or any Daddy to save me for that matter so please, move along.