Back From Hell

I'd like to share another song with you. It's had me thinking alot lately about the process of grief. It's called Back From Hell, and it's also by Gary Allen. It's country, so forgive me if it's a bit simplistic and redundant.

I just got back from Hell
and I'm standing here alive.
I know it's really hard to tell,
Don't know how I survived.
I can't say that I'm doin' great,
But I think I'm doin' well.
That Devil's gonna have to wait
'Cause I just got back from Hell

Well, I just got back from Hell
And I guess to tell the truth
I've been mad at everyone,
including God and you.
When you can't find no one to blame,
You just blame yourself.
And I know I'll never be the same
I just got back from Hell

Forgive me if I had any part
If I ever broke your heart in two
Forgive me for what I didnt know,
For what I didnt say or do.
And, God, forgive me as well
'Cause I just got back from Hell

Well, I just got back from Hell
And I need to make some plans.
It's the last thing that I wanna do
But I'll do the best I can.
I'm gonna learn to live again,
But I think I'll sit a spell.
Tell the world that I'm alive
and I just got back from Hell.
I can't say that I'm doin' great
But I think I'm getting well
Gonna let the world know I'm alive
And I just got back from Hell

It's especially the last stanza that I want to talk about today.

I'm very afraid of the end of the year. All the way from Thanksgiving through New Years I expect to really, really suck. Sometimes all I can think is that I wish I were through this year already. Other times, all I can think is "I can't believe it's September...". I feel like I'm stuck in fast forward and reverse at the same time.

I feel like I've been living in a scary, dark hole. I'm afraid to come out, though, because the world out there is even scarier. Many people have been telling me that things don't get better in the second year. They just get different; but I have it on good authority that things won't get easier. I've started to have these flashes where I look around and realize the world is still moving on without me... without him. This causes me great distress, since my personal theory of relativity said that that wasn't possible. It violates the laws of nature that the (my) world still turns without him here to stabilize it.

I'm finding grief at this point to be alot like giving birth (well.... what I imagine giving birth is like). I'll be ok for a short bit of time, and then the pain comes out of nowhere. You grit your teeth and scream and breathe until it passes. Then you wait with relief and apprehension until another wave comes. The moments of peace in between the waves of pain are where life continues. I'll start to think about life after this... and the idea repels me. I'll start to have hope that maybe things will be ok, but this thought racks me with a guilt that is indescribable. You see, things can't ever be ok again, because I made a promise. If "CJ and Tamsen" was the most important thing that ever was, how can anything "only Tamsen" does ever be worthwhile? If he was the only thing that really mattered, how in the hell am I supposed to find something else that matters at all? I feel like I'm being torn apart from the inside: half of me desperately needs hope that I'll come out of this alright, the other half of me feels like anything resembling a normal life would be evidence that CJ wasn't necessary.

But the moments of clarity are there, and they're becoming more frequent. Like someone who's been lost at sea that starts to see signs of land - a bird in the sky or a floating tree branch. For eight months now, I've been living within the shadow of CJ's death. It's always there, lurking in the corners waiting to jump out and grab me. But a few months ago I went away for the weekend with a friend. For two whole days, I felt like a normal person. The love I have for CJ, my adoration of him, my respect for him, my gratitude for him were all still there - but the pain wasn't. And I didn't feel guilty - which is usually what I feel whenever happiness sneaks up on me. It was the first time since the day he died that I felt - that I believed - that life without CJ was possible. (See? Even writing that last line still inspires a sense of guilt...)

Even so, I feel that that weekend was a break-through of sorts for me, emotionally speaking. For so long now I've been getting by on just hoping that things would work out, that I'd find a way to get better, a way to be content, if not happy. But that one brief, shining moment where I really knew that I will be alright, and that there will come a day where my life will be worth the trouble again has helped me to move forward another step in the process of grief. It's easier to deal with the pain today if you really believe (instead of just hope) that things will get better, that the pain will ease as the years go by. Like the last stanza of that song, I feel like I'm at a place where things can start to change. I may not have come all the way through Hell yet, but I'm finally through one level of it, I think. I'm ready to start thinking about the possibilites - without guilt, if not without pain. I need to make some plans. It's the last thing that I wanted, but I'll do the best I can. So, I'm gonna try to learn to live again, but first I think I'll sit a spell. I just wanted you all to know I think I'm getting well. See you on the other side of Hell.

Blessed Be,
Tamsen