Writing was the first coping mechanism I can remember using.
Growing up I always had diaries and journals (my sisters can tell you what they said…). As I’d finished one I’d throw it away because of secondhand embarrassment. I never wanted anyone to read them. EXCEPT for one specific journal I’d leave out for my mom to find and read when I was mad at her, so that she knew I was mad at her. That’s weird of me.
I thought I’d be a songwriter when I grew up. I remember my first song. I must have been in 4th grade and it’s giving me firsthand embarrassment right now, just thinking about it. Awkward. As I became an adult, I abandoned writing and replaced it with “productivity”. What a bummer. It hasn’t been until the last 2 years I’ve started writing again. I did have a moment in college where I’d write funny poems about guys my friends dated. I really really wish I still had those.
Here’s where I make things even weirder… We all get intrusive thoughts right? This is where the dark humor really comes in. Sometimes I’ll get an intrusive thought in my head though and it’ll be on repeat like a song until I write it out. Here’s a weird intrusive thought turned poem I wrote about 10 months into the most intense grief I’ve ever experienced.
I’ll dig down into this ground that’s bare,
KW
Six feet past the worms and rocks and clay.
Grass and dirt in my nails I don’t care,
Just to pull up the blanket where you lay.
I would re-tuck you in anywhere,
There’s no amount of money I wouldn’t pay.
I’d touch every curl in your hair,
And cry and hope and wish I could stay.
To cut a lock that I’d never share,
And keep with me until my dying day.
I felt absolutely insane having that intrusive thought all the time. I felt like if I acted on it, I’d get some sort of peace. Now, obviously, I wouldn’t act on it and obvi it would never actually bring peace. BUT these thoughts are “normal”. I am not crazy. You are not crazy. I am a human living a very real human experience, through really strange circumstances.
I promise you, on our lady and savior TSwift, that not all of my posts will be heavy. Just feels good to get some of the ugly stuff out.
One response to “A Poem”
I am so proud of you. It’s real and raw, while so many types of grief and hurt is different…how we process and manage it is different….where we hold it in our body is different…however, I believe what everyone shares is the need and desire to feel less alone and to know that it’s ok to have the ugly moments. What you’re bravely sharing is just that. It’s the permission for others to hurt too, without fear or embarrassment.