A Decidedly Bad Morning... (A short look into my grieving patterns)

I woke up to the sounds of someone (I correctly assumed my dad) going through the hall closet on the opposite side of the wall my bed is pressed against. I stopped to think (half asleep) about why he would be going through the hall closet at 5:30 in the morning, much less actually be awake. The first thought that filtered into my head was that it had something to do with my cat, who has been very sick lately, then the thought occurred to me that maybe he'd died, but I pushed it out of my head. I got up after that, still trying to get used to my "morning person" ways, and went about my morning routine.

Once I was in the kitchen making my coffee (headphones in as usual), my mom came in the kitchen, eyes bloodshot, and gave me a watery smile. I had been right. I really wished I hadn't.

Now, I could paint the heartbreaking picture of me sobbing as I type this (which may still happen, but I doubt it), but that's not what's happening. Occasionally I tear up, but I keep shoving it back down. I'm fine.

I remember when I thought the vet was going to put him down a few months ago; my mom had texted me something about a start of execution. Thankfully it was only a typo (Swype is evil like that) and she actually meant stay of execution, which meant he was just sick and would get better. Before I knew that, though, I had started sobbing because I thought my cat was going to die.

This morning was different; when I saw my mom, I just knew, and my stomach filled with lead, but I didn't cry. Something about seeing my mom cry just closes me off and I couldn't cry. I probably could make myself cry just so I could say I had the "proper reaction," but that's bullshit. My so-called proper reaction is to take pain and sadness and shove it as far away from my consciousness and thoughts as I can. To most people I would appear apathetic at this moment. I may even appear apathetic to my parents; I don't know if they can actually tell that I'm not, but I'm sure they know regardless.

To be honest, I feel apathetic. I have to, otherwise the grief would consume me. I do not handle grief well at all, and that usually leads to a state of perceived apathy with brief bursts of intense sadness where tears will well up in my eyes and a sob will try to claw it's way out of my throat, but I just swallow it down and internally (sometimes outwardly) say, "I'm fine."

I'm sure my eyes appear emotionless (almost dead, maybe), but I've gotten good at faking happiness, or at least "normality." Sometimes the facade will slip and people will ask me if I'm alright, but I just smile, using previously catalogued responses and emotions, and say that, "Yeah, I'm good," (because saying, "I'm fine," is what they would expect from an upset person). If they don't seem sure (maybe I look tired or haunted), I say, "I haven't been sleeping well lately, too much coffee," and laugh it off.

I probably sound self-important (because I am; aren't you important to yourself?) talking about facades and being able to fool people into actually believing that I'm okay, but that's just how I live my life. I bottle up my emotions and keep them from other people, hiding them away so they can't be used against me (which probably sounds cynical, but I am cynical). And I don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't once mentioned how I feel. I still won't. Talking about my feelings is something I rarely do because it makes me uncomfortable.

But I digress. It's been a bad morning and I'm going to handle it the only way I successfully know how: I'm going to ignore it, shove it inside, and go about my day as I normally would, beginning with, "Good morning."