little griefkeepers

On the offchance that you haven’t seen this yet: Teletubbies dancing to Joy Division. It’s the ultimate in ironic emo; I love it.

Okay, if you watched that, you’re probably in the right frame of mind to put up with me mopping up tears and blowing my nose on my blog again. Stupid android app won’t let me embed the video, so here is an unsatisfactory gif.


The miserable bit is after the cut.

A farewell, a reminder, an act of kindness, a song – those were today’s gatekeepers of grief. They’re only causal in a butterfly effect sort of way; they are temporary triggers, perhaps – if you have any interest in adding even more triggers to your basket (nooooooo).

The farewell … sore, but absolutely and utterly worth it. The others, bittersweet and on their slow and careful way to becoming more sweet than bitter.

(If you feel like some soothing and comforting, this might do it.)

They’re innocent, those little guardians of grief, with their numerous and alliterative appellations, even though they frequently sneak in silently and overthrow your composure. My composure – let me avoid speaking for anybody but myself. Songs are the universal visceral reminders. I was about halfway home when the first wave hit. I turned it up louder than I have ever turned anything up (sober) before and I sang my broken heart out. A few songs later, another one arrived. It was the last bit of the main road and I had it loud and was singing (bellowing) along. I turned off and got a bit further down the road and those weird and silent tears swelled in my ribcage and that was that. It was a good and healing howl, but so so so so fucking incredibly very sore. Obviously. Grief wouldn’t be grief if it felt and tasted like clouds of cotton candy.

Amazingly, when I got back, there was a friend to hug me. Astonishing and lovely.

Home … swallow lamotrigine and ritalin and grapefruit juice. Slam tomato and olive chips down my throat. Dole out the incredibly expensive pills into the pill caddy, checking them like some kind of rite –
Even my fecking medication is sliding towards clang association. Ohhhh did you see what I did (unintentionally) there. Dole out their little friends too –
Zinc & Magnesium
Vitamin C
I know people whose daily pill intake hits double figures, my quantities are modest.

… distraction like that helps me sidle past any further tearstorms (a storm in a tearcup?), and I can plod through the rest of the day. Sensible food, exercise, routine, lather, rinse, repeat.

I scuppered myself briefly by answering an email from my alcoholic aunt. She asks things and then studiously replies to every single thing I say, except anything bipolar related. Whaaatever.

Grief is infinite, but life can curve safely around it. Aching ribs and raw eyeballs are finite. Chocolate helps a little. Clean and clear tear ducts are fabulous … eh, fuck all this positivity.

Everything is okay, even though it will never be okay again. Some of you will understand that already and the others will too, eventually.


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