09h59 PM, Sunday, 26 February 2016
At Home
Jee. Sus.
I hate crying over movies. Especially sad ones whose messages seep through to the most sensitive, deepest crevices of the heart. The ones that make you cry... not just because the heartbreaking storyline, but because a core part of you resonates profoundly with it. I often try to downplay the severity the of trauma I experienced when my mum passed away. It's actually harder admitting it now than it was four years ago because of how far behind the closet I've tried to shove the matter. It's harder talking about it, and brutal thinking about it. But grief's a work in progress, right? It has to be. I mean, I don't think it just ends, like conversations do. Collateral Beauty starring Will Smith helped me understand this. We often put immense pressure on ourselves to "get over it" -- to resume life as normal as soon as we can.
Normal? What fucking "normal"?
My world's just died and you expect me to be normal? Fuck you.
So we play along anyway, because that's the norm, right? It's psychotic to be depressed and grief-stricken for too long, right? But nothing ever feels normal again. You simply learn to carve out a new normal that doesn't feel too foreign. But it does. It does. When you've made someone your world, it often does feel too foreign moving on without them.
Which is why we should never make people our worlds; they're prone to dying on us.
At Home
Jee. Sus.
I hate crying over movies. Especially sad ones whose messages seep through to the most sensitive, deepest crevices of the heart. The ones that make you cry... not just because the heartbreaking storyline, but because a core part of you resonates profoundly with it. I often try to downplay the severity the of trauma I experienced when my mum passed away. It's actually harder admitting it now than it was four years ago because of how far behind the closet I've tried to shove the matter. It's harder talking about it, and brutal thinking about it. But grief's a work in progress, right? It has to be. I mean, I don't think it just ends, like conversations do. Collateral Beauty starring Will Smith helped me understand this. We often put immense pressure on ourselves to "get over it" -- to resume life as normal as soon as we can.
Normal? What fucking "normal"?
My world's just died and you expect me to be normal? Fuck you.
So we play along anyway, because that's the norm, right? It's psychotic to be depressed and grief-stricken for too long, right? But nothing ever feels normal again. You simply learn to carve out a new normal that doesn't feel too foreign. But it does. It does. When you've made someone your world, it often does feel too foreign moving on without them.
Which is why we should never make people our worlds; they're prone to dying on us.
