So I braved a party this weekend. I decided the only way to overcome this anxiousness is to slowly face it. So, even though it sent me into a panic attack the night before, I went.
And, for the most part, it turned out alright. I only broke down once. Not bad, right? More importantly, I faced my fears and survived.
I didn’t feel like everyone was ignoring what happened. I felt comfortable enough bringing it up if I wanted to. I also didn’t feel pressure to talk about it if I didn’t want to. The hard thing, though, was hearing how “good” I look. Like because I somehow don’t look “bad” I must feel fine? What exactly do people expect? Should I be bursting into tears every five minutes? Just because I’m not a blubbering mess doesn’t mean I’m not hurting beyond words inside. I’m not walking around in sackcloth and ashes so I must not be desperate and depressed inside? Most of the time I feel desperate and there’s no one who understands and no help out there for me. I have to somehow make it through my days. Of course I smile and talk politely. What else can I do? Our loss is too sacred to share with just anyone and if we walked around with our heart on our sleeves it would just make them uncomfortable.
I don’t know, maybe it makes them feel better to think I’m doing well…