… This is your brain on drugs photo. If you’re old enough, you’d remember the eggs in the frying pan.
As I was looking for an easy image to pull, (because I don’t feel like fried eggs for breakfast,) I ran across a lot of images of brains, and brain related memes.
Ironically more than a few of those “informative” images, were suspect or had typos.
This one for example, has both concerns. I think the average human brain is perhaps 1/3 larger than the image asserts and there’s the old To, Too, Two, bugaboo. I’m going to ignore capitalization and sentence structure.
According to a quick internet search, (we all know how accurate that’s likely to be,) The average human brain weighs in, at about 3 lbs. It has a volume of 1260 cm3. Another interesting thing to note is that the human brain contains approximately 40% fat.
I suppose that means I shouldn’t have been offended when someone called me a fathead.
All of this about brains started because as I’ve moved through the grieving process, I’ve noticed things that disturb the hell out of me. I can’t remember SHIT! I write stuff down, or I put it into my phone and then forget to check my list.
I didn’t used to have this problem. I remembered everything, and found the act of writing things down to be a waste of time because I remembered everything I needed to do.
Now, I can’t stay focused, or on task. Everything is monumentally difficult, even the things I like doing. I’ve also noticed that I feel like I’ve lost myself, and am lost. I don’t “Feel” like myself right now. I’m easily bored and far too easily annoyed by the simplest of things.
People have said that this will pass. I can feel the truth of that statement. Simultaneously, I sense another truth as well. The hurt will diminish, (and has,) but I will never be the same person I was. I will be irrevocably changed. Things that I used to enjoy, I may leave behind because those things remind me of who I was with my other half, and it is too painful.
It’s in your other half’s absence that you are confronted with constant reminders of how much you were loved. You also have to confront how much you took that love and care for granted. There’s an element of guilt in that last bit. I don’t think guilt is the right emotion because if the roles were reversed, the feelings would be the same.
Moving on is hard. I haven’t done as good a job at it as I thought I would. I feel ashamed about that. I’ve been told not to beat myself up over it. I try not to, but I still feel ashamed.
I thought I was prepared. I thought it would be a quick searing pain and then it would be done. I was wrong. The pain lingers on. I think that’s a lyric from Pink Floyd’s The Wall. I don’t remember the exact track.
I understand now why many societies have a minimum period for the grieving process. None of these societies have the process written in stone but many have social constructs that determine appropriateness of various behavior during this time.
As an intelligent species with millennia of lived experience behind us, various social fabrics have been woven to accommodate and protect those of us wounded by loss. Make no mistake, it’s a gaping festering emotional wound. It may be a wound that scars over but is always felt. My thinking along these lines allowed me to feel a connectedness that is very human, and was strangely comforting.
July and August have been very hard months for me. I’ve burned a lot of energy trying to process why. His birthday, my Birthday, my Father’s Birthday, the anniversary of my Father’s death, this was typically the time that my other half and I would do things together because he was off work. Which meant he wasn’t running from thing to thing 7 days a week.
In years past we’d take short trips, go to museums, wine tasting, or if it was really hot, we’d content ourselves to walk the dog or dogs here in the mountains where it was cool and beautiful.
In really good years, I’d have sucked enough cock and kissed enough ass at my employer that I could actually take my paltry week of vacation. Most of the time though, “Business Needs” prevented me having anything but weekends off. (Business needs usually meant that the boss was taking 3 weeks off in Cancun with his family or mistress and fuck everyone else!)
School would have started by now and my other half would be getting into the swing of the school year plus preparing for the holiday services at the church and temple.
This hit me like a ton of bricks yesterday while I was making a meatloaf. Laugh if you wish, it is funny. I think it’s the mundane nature of what I was doing.
For a few minutes I forgot he was gone. I looked at the clock on the stove and thought, “I’ll get this cooked and walk the dog before he gets home then make a nice summer salad and sweet corn for dinner, the weather is nice enough that we could perhaps eat on the deck tonight,”
Then I saw his car in the driveway where I’d parked it, and it all crashed in on me again, he’s gone and he’s not coming back.
I think the dog is getting tired of comforting me…
Perhaps not, he doesn’t seem to care as long I cuddle him back. Then he does the only thing he knows as a “Fixes Everything,” he’ll keep bringing me balls until I pick one to throw for him. Apparently fetching a ball is the puppy cure-all that ails you.
It actually works. I think it’s his tenacity, he’ll bring each ball in, drop it at my feet or in my lap and wait for a response. The response he’s looking for is a smile, or for me to grab the ball. At that point his tail starts wagging and he heads for the door. All is well again…
The point of this rambling train of thought is;
Life is Change
Change is sometimes painful
Love is beautiful, terrible, painful, and joyous. Above all, those we love and who love us back are never forgotten, because they’ve literally gotten into our head.
The pain we feel when grieving is real, and I think caused by suddenly finding familiar pathways in our heads non-functional.
Hell, it could even be endorphin withdrawal. When we see a loved one we get a hit and when we don’t see them anymore we have to go cold turkey.
There are probably thousands of too tightly wrapped Phds, MDs, and whatever else the educational system has turned out that will vehemently disagree with my assessment. Go ahead! I never claimed I was an expert, I’d bet however that I’m a damn sight closer to being an expert than any of those so called “Experts” because I’m living through this time, it’s my lived experience. (See what I mean? I’m almost as edgy and easily pissed off as Biden, or my Mom these days.)
I need an endorphin hit. Maybe I’ll go buy myself a birthday present or two. I think I’ll try the built-in method of getting that endorphin hit before I go out and spend money. I suspect however that I’m going to be shopping in the next day or two.
Maybe it’s time for a haircut, a massage, and some time spent caring for myself and saying the hell with responsible behavior (within limits…)
Yeah, I’m working through a lot of shit that I am ill equipped to handle.
