Renegades blogs are back, and we're starting with this beautifully crafted piece by one of our long time supporters. While they have chosen to keep their writing anonymous, I want to express my heartful thanks to them for crafting such an intelligent piece that I know so many of you readers will relate to...
"I have sat with a man named grief for an exceptionally long time. He takes the shape of the people you loved most. He takes the form of concepts and objects that you mourn. He means you no harm, I promise. Many people see grief from the perspective of sadness. Of loss and hopelessness. The soul dubbed agony sat with me too. And he taught me things I never thought he could. Grieving is a natural process that many hope to never feel. Unlike most, however, I am grateful for my grief. I can hear your screams at the screen already. Let me show you what took me years to learn.
The first time I remember feeling the cold touch of grief, I was fourteen. I had a dear friend lose her battle to hatred. She was a kind, beautiful soul. Though many called her a boy, she was a bright and warm girl. Losing her made me feel anger. An anger I still feel today. Losing her taught me to feel passionate about change. To never back down from a fight, no matter how annoying others think you are. To never lose hope, and to fight for a world you believe in. If someone had spoken up for her, perhaps we never would have lost her. It wasn’t until years later I learned sorrow’s lesson.
I shall not recount to you every time I have grieved, this isn't a therapy session, for me, at least. But I will mention notable losses I have experienced, and what the one named woe has taught me.
Losing a friend at an immature age stings. At that age, death seems almost inconceivable. Your brain simply rejects the premise. Children are not meant to die. But they do. And it taught me to want more from the system. To fight harder and louder than ever before. It taught me to never be quiet, especially when everyone around you ignores you.
Another notable lesson from the great shadow man came from an unexpected loss. I will not admit to having a past that many would brag about. I have suffered. And suffering people do anything they can to feel okay. Sometimes we walk paths we never would have considered when we were younger. Alas, I fell down a hole. Many holes. As a grieving child, isolated from my peers, I found ways to cope. They were not healthy. So, I found others who coped like myself. While we may not have shared the exact same methods, or used the same substances, we found ourselves in others. A community. People who could understand why you do these destructive things. One of these people understood me better than anyone. She understood the pain that came with grief. How ironic I would come to grieve her. Losing a friend to substance abuse is a harrowing experience. It generates shame and fear. And that fear can lead you to reject grief. Running from him, hoping to never see his face. I know this, because that is exactly what I did. I continued into the holes I had worked so hard to dig myself out of. Until I experienced that same tragedy that took her from us. Laying in a hospital bed, full of fear and shame, yet again.
And I learned that grief is not the enemy. From that point, in memory of her, I promised myself sobriety. And, despite falling back down the ladder at times, I promised to use this pain to fuel something good. And so, sitting with the shadowy whisper we call heartbreak taught me a valuable lesson. It taught me to advocate for the dangers of substance abuse and alcoholism. I taught me to help those in need, even when they don't want it. And it taught me to promote sobriety.
Loss can happen closer to home, as well. And it has, for so many. Losing a sibling is emptying. It leaves a confusing hole within your very soul. Anyone who has lost a family member would know the feeling. But to lose them to mental illness, that feeling is almost indescribable. As someone with mental illnesses, I could understand the situation better than most. The hope of seeing their ups, the agony of watching them fall. Having experienced so many forms of grief already, I knew better than to run away and hide. I was wiser this time. And so, I allowed the master of life lessons in. I met grief at the door this time. I greeted him like an old friend. Despite being so open, I still could not find any lesson.
And that was the moment that I learned of my naiveté. Despite having sat with this man for many years, knowing he would always find me, knowing that he had a lesson for me, nothing appeared. No epiphany. And then it struck. That was a lesson itself. Life lessons don’t appear just because you want them to. No amount of preparation will make a difference. So, I sat back. I meditated alongside him. A stayed there, in silence with him, for what seemed like days, until he turned his head toward me, plucked a lily from the ground, and smiled at me. My lesson was ready. He taught me how to keep those close to me even closer, to care more deeply and to love more fervently. To appreciate every small thing as much as the large things. And most importantly, to not rush your grief. You have to truly feel your feelings. Always. Never deny yourself emotions. You are worthy of so much more.
Grief exists outside of just people. We often grieve things that have no physical manifestation. At least, I know I have. I couldn’t count on one hand how many things I have grieved so heavily.
Some types of grief hang around in the background. Festering in anger and hatred. Never let this fury burn too brightly. I know how you feel. Letting that fire burn is cathartic. Committing full-scale arson is not. Learn from sorrow. Control the fire. Burn a fire of passion, not of hate.
I feel as though I can illustrate this section of grief without saying the words aloud. You know exactly what I am talking about. That blood-boiling, fear-inducing, hair-prickling thought. This grief is not about loss but about theft. An item you can never have returned. Believe me when I say this: No lesson should ever be learned from this grief. In this example sorrow has no business to offer comfort through a lesson. This is a pain no person should be subjected to. Nevertheless, he still does. In the face of pure evil, he still finds a way. You can fight to be heard. There are others out there who know this agony. Know that you are not alone. That is the only comfort that misery may offer.
One particularly difficult time I had to deal with the painful insights of ache was during a rough breakup. Losing someone you love through this manner is gut wrenching. It makes you feel physically sick. At times you may even feel like you’re going insane. I’ve been there. I promise you you’re not. The heart wrenching reality that someone you love is no longer around is no easy task to cope with. And while distractions may help to spread the pain, you ultimately you cannot escape the void. You must face him. He isn’t here to taunt your loss. Nor is he here to destroy your happy memories or rip off your rose-tinted glasses. He wants to teach you how to appreciate the time you spend with another person, even in their absence. What he taught me lead to me getting back out there. When I lost who I thought was the love of my life, I felt depleted. Destroyed. Then he showed up, and I groaned. Again and again, he finds me. Like a dark cloud looming over me. But much like a dark cloud, you cannot outrun him. You must instead dance in the rain.
He taught me to remember the good times, even though they aren’t around anymore. To say thank you, to be grateful, and then to move on. These are all lessons we often forget in the hazy field we call emotions. Taking time to sit and appreciate what we once had, to be thankful without feeling indebted do them. Do all of this at your own pace. And do it through the tears. Don’t hold back the rainstorm in hopes it will just disappear. You cannot change the weather. Instead, flow with your emotions like a river.
Like losing a lover, losing friends can be just as hard. I have done a lot of that. I have lost many people. Some to hurtful, reputation damaging rumours. Some to my own actions. Hurt people hurt people. But that is never an excuse. I sat throwing fiery slashes at everyone who approached me. I am not proud of my reactions. And losing people who just wanted to help me made that guilt even stronger. When grieving my friends, I thought about what I could have done better. What I was justified in doing. What I was experiencing that others didn’t see. When grief slid into the seat next to me, I bit him. Hard. He did nothing.
Even years later, I still struggle to follow his lessons. He taught me that rising above is better than stooping. That forgiving yourself is okay. And to lean into your support network. People are there for you. They care. Somone loves you. Not everyone is against you.
One other time I remember the icy creeping of mourning was during my initial diagnosis. He was not the only one present, but he was the one who stayed the longest. I was diagnosed with multiple disorders over a span of a number of months. Each time he was there. Grieving someone you could have been hurts. A lot. To know that you will never be normal. To comprehend that you will never be capable of the things your peers are. To truly understand that you will have to fight harder, be stronger, and work more just to survive. Just to scrape by. It is torturous. But it comes with some heartwarming lessons, I assure you. He taught me how to find joy in the strengths that come with illness. Whether it’s empathy or resilience, creativity or kindness, self-awareness or advocacy. He also gave me the time to show myself kindness and love. He preaches the importance of self-care. And, most importantly of all, he taught me how to appreciate my fight. I worked hard to get here, and I continue to work hard every day, fighting every single day to be alive. And for that, for myself, I will always be grateful and proud.
So, I round out this piece with one final thing to say. But before I do, I’d like to acknowledge you, the reader, for being here. I don’t know why you have chosen to read this. Maybe you were looking for comfort within your grief. Perhaps you were looking for advice on how to support a loved one. Or perhaps you just enjoy long think pieces. Whatever your reason, I wanted to say I appreciate you. And I am proud of you.
Grieving is hard. And there is no way around it. Trust me, I’ve tried. But despite that, you still fight, whether for yourself or for someone else. So let this be the moment where someone tells you that they love you. I love you, stranger. I am so grateful you are here.
Now, with all of that out of the way, I present to you my last words to you, for now. Take special care of them, they were crafted just for you.
We all grieve differently and there is no timeline. But if I could offer one piece of advice to a grieving person, it would be this: Don’t let your grief lie to you. You are grieving because whatever or whoever you lost was important to you. And if you sit in this feeling long enough, denying reality, you will undoubtedly lose everything you hold dear. Instead of running from him, follow sorrow. Never let contempt spoil what you love. Losing someone teaches you to fight no matter what, to never be silent, and to never give up.
Mr. Grief can follow you into the most unexpected places. You cannot hide. He will find you. So, sit with him. You'd be surprised what you can learn from him.
- Anonymous
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