I’m experiencing a profound form of grief that makes me physically ill.
I feel broken, punched in the gut.
I have been completely loved up and utterly unprepared at that dangerous juncture.
My inner voice kept telling me to put this in perspective and rally around.
Not only do I feel sad, lost, confused, and weepy, but I also feel physically ill. I haven’t moved around my Apartment a lot; I even haven’t left the Apartment. When about to eat, I am staring at my plate of food, unable to eat. The smell of food, even the idea, was utterly off-putting.
I am feeling sick to my stomach, like I have gastric flu.
In the morning, when I wake up, I feel like there are tons of bricks in my chest, a massive void inside my heart, and the sensation of someone putting a scorching iron on my skin. I also feel like I’ve been hit by a truck right now.
I can’t stop myself from crying; my eyes are getting swollen. Every corner at my place has so many memories that I can’t handle that I’m here alone, facing them.
My mind is more of a scrambled mess.
I feel like I am wandering through a surrealist film, with walls, floors, and ceilings suddenly interchangeable.
It’s not rare that in such a situation, I find myself questioning my very identity—the feeling of not only losing my very essence and the whole world attached to that. The shock of suddenly being out of what I’ve been longing for is an incredibly destabilizing experience.