Overdosed on Tears

Day 913.

I am on a plane again.

The enclosed space of a plane always does something to my thinking.

I’ve had very little sleep for this 6:00 AM flight.

Reading in Jason’s book about neurons, triggered my dozing brain to consider how those neurons respond to grief too.

It was Mother’s day in the UK yesterday, and I have to say I was and still in a particular form of agony.

I am not coping. I am not moving forward.

The loss of Luke 913 days later, tears at my every sinew. 

I am tortured.

I am in agony.

I am clenched, jaw, hands, heart, chest.

My internal bluetooth searches for him.

I fight back the tears, but why?

Because they get me nowhere.

They no longer soothe. I have overdosed on them for two and a half years, and I’m now immune to their benefits. My eyes will just be sore and swollen.

But internally I am sobbing constantly.

I have lost myself.

I am broken.

I am harrowed by the loss of Luke.

His brother suffers in the loss of my own personality.

I am drowning in my own love.

I am clumsy and my constant fuck ups have caused me to be banned from doing laundry.

I know, you’d think I’d be punching the air, but instead I am grieving the loss of my competence.

Am I actually mentally ill?

I wake every day and I feel as though I am sickening for something.

But the anticipated illness never actually arrives, because the physical discomfort in my joints, throat, chest, muscles - is actually grief.

I can’t sleep it off.

I can’t dose it away.

It hangs here all over me, distracting me, entrancing me, leaving me without focus or concentration, without effective sleep.

I am flying east to New York to care for Jason who is recovering from a serious illness.

I am disarmed by my newfound incompetence and the anxiety that the uncertainty of it brings.

Am I competent enough to take care of Jason?

Will the change do me good?

Am I too close to Boston?

Am I in any fit state to even know?

My family will surely be relieved to be rid of me.