Day 24 of 30 Days In June, “The Silence of Grieving” 

Day 24 of 30 Days in June, “The Silence of Grieving”
PTSD Poetry Project is poetry created from public, personal blog posts and journal entries

“The Silence of Grieving”

The road upon which I walked

Was one of absolute silence

No appearance of listening

Grief caused a silence like no other

A silent road

A dark road lost in the dark

No sound or light

Grief was stuck into a box

A box I returned to only at night

I continued to survive each day

My nights had become an ugly location

One in which I hated myself

Questioned myself

Until the questions

Seeped into my days

Every action

Every interaction

Become one of questions

Had I done enough

Had I been enough

I was never going to be enough

My psyche broke

In this place of questions

Rightness became lost

Be a good parent

Be a good work partner

Be good and stuff it down deep

Put on the mask

Be the bubble head

They all want to see

The silence consumed me

Until the day

Brain injury caused an explosion

A noise so loud I could not contain it

In opposition of grieving

My brain shouted it’s pain

Inside my head

The silence of grieving

Became the noise of an injured brain

Moments of wishing, hoping

For the silence to begin again

For I had forgotten

The object of my grief


“The Silence of Grieving”

    Posted by Bree N. on November 10, 2014  
    (Highest readership post of entire blog)

     Grieving, it became a road upon which I lost even the appearance of listening. Trying to recover from the TBI this past year has been in direct opposition of the silence of the previous road. Grieving was such a silent road, one lost in the dark with no glimmer of any sound or light. Some would say this was a road of depression yet I would beg to differ. I was grieving, I was SAD, I was so lost I could only rely on 2 mentors to guide me to where I needed to go career wise. 

    Grieving is normal. This is a truth. Grieving takes its own time line. Sometimes grieving is a moment within which I was able to stuff it into a box to return to time and again when I was alone at night unable to sleep. See, my world became one of just surviving the day. The night became an ugly place to which I returned and went over everything again and again until I would be in tears. Hating myself, feeling I was not strong enough, I would question my actions of every day, every patient, every contact on the street. Grieving took its own toll on my psyche. I lost sense of self, sense of any rightness in my life. 

     I learned to suck it up and stuff it down so I could be a parent to my children, to be a good work partner as best I could given my ability to distance myself from everyone. Giving all I could to patients, I put on my different masks/faces. I learned to just be a bubble headed blonde “girl” so that others wouldn’t expect much, to hide my intelligence, my age from them. I learned to relate to the public in a reserved, yet positive manner. 

     I learned to “fake it” in my own life. 


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