I remember those early days.
When the world has split open and nothing makes sense. When people talk at you and for you and around you, and not only do you no longer understand, but you no longer care. All these people going about their business as though it were the same sky, the same sun, the same universe it used to be, when you know that it is not. They no longer live in the same world you do. Your life was normal, and then, suddenly, it was not.
It’s like being in a crowded movie theater. Everyone starts out watching the same picture, exactly the one they bought tickets for, exactly the same one as advertised. At some point, the screen rips in two, it shatters, and a whole new film begins. This one is surreal and strange, a horror show where there wasn’t one before. The characters have changed, the stage set is wrong. There are three moons in the sky, and this wasn’t science fiction when it started.
But the worst thing – the worst thing is not that the movie has changed, but that no one else has noticed that it’s changed. They are all still watching as though nothing has happened. No one seems to notice that the screen has split and morphed, that everything is different now.
If you make a sound, if you say – wait. WAIT – this is all wrong now! They pat your arm and whisper – shh. It’s totally fine. It’s just a movie. It’ll work out fine. What a great story, and pass the popcorn please.
You know that what they’re watching is a lie. It’s a play of light and shadow that can stop at any time, mid-story, mid-sentence, mid-life. But until they see the screen you see, they will never understand.
Early grief is largely this: crashing again and again into a reality that can’t be real. Seeing the movie of your life shift reels with no warning; being forced to watch a story play out against a screen that cannot hold it in. An impossibility without release. There is no neat-and-tidy. There are no answers. There is no way to right a universe that is so tilted now.
The brain can’t take this in. You cannot shove an unreality into your heart, into your mind – it will not fit. It will not fit.
If you’re here, in the early days, and the universe has just split open and everything has changed: I’m sorry you’re here. Others have come before you, but that doesn’t really matter now. What matters is that the sky is wrong, and life is wrong, and you need someone to see it, to acknowledge it. To say – this is fucked up shit that just happened here.
You need someone to hold your hands while you stand there in blinking horror.
To not offer anything into that strange abyss but love, and time, and attendance.
Sweetheart. I am so sorry you find yourself here. This sucks. It’s all wrong. There is nothing to do but to hold that horror, to send love down into that abyss.
Acknowledgement in everything.
This is all so horribly, horribly wrong. And I’m so sorry that you’re here.