I don’t talk much… well, that’s a lie. Some may say I talk too much, if I’m super comfortable around a person, I never shut up. I don’t talk much about the real stuff, the things on my mind, the things that matter. I don’t share my stress, my worries or my grief. I don’t know how to talk about it to anyone but my mother and she’s not here anymore.
The days go by fast and the stress keeps threatening to overflow, all the while the only voice in my head is that of a small girl, crying for her mother.
Mommy.
Mommy.
Mommy..
The worst part is that I’m not alone. I have a beautiful, magical and loving support system. I have love and kindness surrounding me. I am safe. I have the freedom to be myself and thrive. But….
Mommy.
Mommy.
Mommy.
Grief is a strange thing. I know grief well, death is something I had to make peace with from a very young age but grief catches me by surprise…. every. single. day. When the screaming in my mind takes a break, I get a moment to breathe and then I have this intense need to get things done. But my brain is so tired from the screaming that it struggles to catch up. Which in turn makes me stress….
Mommy.
Mommy.
Mommy.
How do I explain to someone that my brain never shuts up, that all I want is my mother? I don’t talk much about these things but I know that I should. I wish my mom was here, she would know what to say.
Oh, thank goodness… the noise stopped. Time to breathe.
Paint and My Mat 