I’m going to bed in eight minutes. I have to sleep tonight. I cannot be blogging, messaging, and sending unnecessary emails late ridiculously late tonight. Seven and a half minutes.
Yesterday, I typed something in the notes section of my phone yesterday as I found myself feeling very strongly something I wanted to post about, and at that moment, I was unable to actually write everything I was feeling. But what I did quickly type was this:
“Why do we always have to be so strong?”
I was in a place where the majority, if not everyone, around me was grieving the loss of someone they very much loved. A man who impacted their lives in a way enough that they felt compelled to pray for him and to support a family that they might not have ever even met before, as was the case with me. As I sat there, upset, grieving, prayerful, nostalgic, and quite sad, I found myself in a place where I felt like I couldn’t feel what I was feeling because I couldn’t control the outward emotions those feelings were bringing. I was embarrassed to feel, as I think many people are. So I thought about something else, and tried very hard to do so. I turned my thoughts away from remembering this man’s life and the stories he told and I didn’t want to think about the last time I saw him because it made me sad and I felt like I wasn’t allowed to show that feeling of sadness. Why does feeling and showing that make us appear weak? If being strong means I have to somehow dismiss my emotions so that no one is able to see my tears, my sadness, especially in a situation that should allow for vulnerability, I’m not sure I want to be strong.
On a somewhat related topic, I had a conversation with Victoria a few week ago about how death and thinking about death makes me extremely uncomfortable. I’m not sure if that was the word I used, but to be all too honest, thinking about dying makes me sick to my stomach. Sometimes I’m able to handle it. Specifically when I’m trying to sleep and I think of death, for whatever reason, I have to force myself to think of something else because it makes me so incredibly distraught. I hate that I’m not comfortable inside my own thoughts. It’s something about the infinite part of it all. I have to force myself to think about something else, anything else. Sometimes I’ll say “Think about something else. Think about something else. Think about something else.” over and over and over again until it goes away. It’s like a bad stomach ache that you have to get through by distracting yourself, or thinking of something else, or whatever. This might be really weird, and I might regret posting this for whatever reason, but I think it’s important and something very real to me. I might care to elaborate more later, but I’ve gone fifteen minutes over the limit I set for myself and I can hardly keep my eyes open any longer. Know that I very much believe in heaven and getting there concerns me of course, but the thought of not being in heaven isn’t what gets to me. It’s everything else. It’s letting go. Again. Letting go. Geeeezzz, Julia.
Rough post, man.