I feel like a broken record, but fuck it. This is my blog, so I’ll write what I want.
The last year of my life hasn’t been easy. I’ve gone through a lot of heartache and a lot of change. Last year, the entire world as my friends and i knew it was turned upside down when our friend Jodie passed away in an unexpected and tragic way. Shortly after that I lost my cat, Pikgittina. This might seem silly to some, but anyone who has ever had a genuine connection with an animal will know that to lose a pet that you really love is devastating.
Last week I blogged about going through a friendship breakup, which is in itself a grieving process, but what really hit me hard this year was my grandmother’s death. I wrote that blog post in Afrikaans, because I felt the need to pay tribute to her in my mother tongue. Long story short, we were incredibly close and she played an active role in my life ever since I can remember. Although the last few years between us were rocky, her death crushed me.
So, now I find myself in a strange place. It’s difficult for me to really enjoy anything these days. I still do the things I like. I listen to music, watch movies, and go to the theatre. I still write (or try to) and go to auditions, but nothing is quite the way it use to be. The colour is gone. It doesn’t taste, look, feel, or sound as good as before. Sometimes I can spend an entire night just doing mindless things like watching YouTube videos, scrolling through Facebook, or chatting on Grindr. Before I know it, it’s 2h00 in the morning and I can’t really say that I’ve been doing anything. During the day I have to take sedatives to avoid getting panic attacks when I go into public places. My flat looks like a mess again. It’s like I’m torn between wanting to live recklessly and wild and wanting to just lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling.
To the people around me it seems like I’m having a breakdown. They seem to think that I’m on some kind of suicide mission again. I’m not. I’m not even really depressed. I’m just hurting down into the very core of my soul. And this is how I’m dealing with it.
Although it isn’t necessarily said, we have been raised in a society that doesn’t really condone grieving. Everyone wants to be the strong martyr who just kept going on. No one wants to be weak. I understand this. I cry a lot, but mostly not in front of other people. I do it alone, because I feel kind of naked when I cry in front of other people. But that doesn’t mean that I hide my sadness. If I want to, I will post that sad picture on Instagram, and if you don’t like it then you can unfollow me. If I don’t want to go to your party and pretend that I’m happy, I won’t. If I want to make out with a stranger to try and feel better then I will. And you can call me a slut if you want, I don’t care.
I just don’t care anymore.
I’m bleeding out the poison and I’m shedding the sadness. If you want to cry, then go straight into the ugly cry. Break plates, burn pictures, tear a pillow open with a knife if that makes you feel better.
Be sad now so that one day you can be happy again.