In the immediate aftermath which follows my learning that another close friend has died, factions of my troubled psyche war and evocate in turn numbness; a kind of detached examination, guilt, anger, and weariness.
Classically, one is expected to react first with denial. It passes, but what follows the outright conscious refusal of the loss is a dumb, superficial acceptance, veiling a more subtle and enduring denial. This denial is not explicit or conscious, but is that of an impoverished mind: one which has not yet run the gamut of this seemingly endless set of realisations of all the implications of the truth.
I will never see this person again. We will never listen to or play music together again. They won’t get to wear my jumper. I have no one to share this joke with anymore. They would have loved this. They never got to achieve their dreams. It was so fucking unnecessary.
These continuous realisations, which run deeper and have scope greater than one can immediatey conceive of, will strike indefinitely and each time, each time the brain has to relearn and reroute on account of this truth, the grief grows greater. At first we accept an assertion, and then in living through grief we come to understand how deeply our experiences were intertwined, and how deeply we are affected. And every time a reminder that it was so fucking unnecessary.
And I find myself writing this in what seems almost to be an attempt to retreat into abstraction, an attempt to construct through reason and manipulation of symbols some cathartic artefact which could if not soothe my seething mind then at least express something of it. Useless.