The lie is so simple really. So simple that we believe it. We believe it because it feels true. It feels true because we WANT it to be true.
The lie is basic… you hurt, you cry, you feel better. A scraped knee, you cry, your mother kisses it and asks “all better now?” and you sniffle up your tears and say it is.
My son screamed rather than cried. He screamed with his voice and with his journals and with his actions. And I cried and told him it would be better. And neither one of us believed it. And it wasn’t. And he left. The finality of his action showing the real truth. That you can’t make something better just by saying or believing it should be.
Grief; I hurt, I cry… it doesn’t feel better. I cry more… I still don’t feel better and the hurt is still there. There is no scrape to stop from bleeding, no bandage that will cover the wound and protect it while it heals. No matter how many people tell you it will get better or how often they smile and ask “isn’t it even just a little bit better?” with that hope in their eyes – that hope that they need so that they can convince themselves that it DOES get better… because, after all, we WANT to believe the lie.
But the truth is… I hurt, I cry…it doesn’t feel better.
The truth is grief is like running a marathon where they keep moving the finish line. Add in depression and it’s like running that same marathon while juggling. After a while you start to think there is no finish line. That may be the scariest truth of all.