Feats of Strength

On Monday, I had my first real emotional breakdown since the funeral. It was quick and unexpected, and truly seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute I was calmly watching TV on the couch; the next, I was crying my eyes out on the living room floor. My sadness physically hurt in a way that seems indescribable. I have never experienced loss as I experienced it on Monday night.

I know last time I wrote, I said that I was surprised by how I could no longer relate to anyone. I hate to be redundant, but I am also surprised by how sudden grief is. While I have learned to live with sadness as an everyday companion, I have not yet learned how to deal with true and utter grief.

I am, by nature, a strong person. Everyone keeps reminding me of this; everyone tells me that I am "strong and will get through this." For me, there is no question as to whether or not I will get through it (what is my other option, after all?), but I am honestly tired of hearing about my feats of strength. I'm struggling with how to put this into words, but I don't mean to say that I am attempting to put on a certain face because I want people to perceive me a certain way; it's nothing like that. I simply don't have the benefit to be grieving all of the time. I am a teacher, and I have to put on my teaching persona every Mondays, Wednesdays, and Friday. Likewise, I have classes every day of the week, and I do not want to come to school a blubbering mess. It is, then, by force of habit and will that I get up out of bed and appear "fine." It is a job requirement, for lack of a better word.

But I am not fine, and I am okay with that. I am also trying my hardest not to be a "White": a White, as my dad always said, does not deal with his or her problems, and pushes them down until they become forgotten. But I think being a White is what killed my dad, and I don't want to do that; not with this. It's just hard, sometimes, not to brush everything off with a laugh and a smile.