I slept for almost 11 hours last night. I still feel tired. I haven’t slept well for most of the last three weeks. It was wonderful to sleep.

I woke up though and wanted to push things away. There was a sense of wishing I could just get on with the chores, not feel anything much. I’m still working through grief. It didn’t go away overnight, even if it seems to be a bit better.

I feel like hiding under blankets. That’s the picture I have in my head—just crawling under blankets and hiding. I suppose I felt that when I was little and Ksymcha died. I just wanted to hide from the world, from having to cope with anything. I wanted to retreat.

The grief for her feels so heavy, and I think a part of me just wishes I could get rid of that heaviness. A part of me really is five years old and believes you can think yourself into feeling okay—not that thoughts don’t affect things, but you can’t just wish grief away. A part of me wishes too that emotions could be like vomit. You can express them maybe and in that way get rid of them. It wishes catharsis were a thing. It isn’t a thing. It’s like white superiority. It’s a lie many people believed for a long time. Feelings have a life of their own. You need to be patient.

I know with the grief comes other things. If I can get the edge off the grief, I get the felt experience of safety, I get the memory of tenderness and warmth.

Patience.

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