However difficult a grief attack is, it's always nice to know what is hurting you. When I do break a plate, I understand the reasons as to why it's so painful - and by acknowledging that, facing it, and crying it out, even in the depths of despair I know I am making progress.
What is really, truly unbearable are the times of grief for which you can identify no trigger, no reason and, consequently, no way to acknowledge it. I wrote an exam once, and had to leave early because I was about to break down. Tears started streaking lines down my cheeks as I shut the door behind me, and I had to rush to the women's washrooms to compose myself before I could go home. At the time, I was clueless as to why I was in pain. It was my last exam of the term, all of my stresses were ended for the summer, and I was fully expecting to feel relief. I was miserable for a week.
Only much later did I realize that I found the professor reminiscent of my dad, and so ending the course was a little bit like losing him all over again.
Once I spent a few days in absolute misery, and took time off of work to lay in bed all day. Only later in the week did I realize Father's Day was approaching.
So, what is it now? I was making myself breakfast and - because I currently have the place to myself - singing. I'd had my coffee and a nice shower and I was in good spirits. In the middle of song, I burst into tears. Why?
I let a few tears out (there's no use stifling such emotions) and then when I felt like they had stopped, I cleaned myself up and left for work. All day at work, I felt as though I was a child on a playground with a crowd of big kids circling around me, pointing, laughing, mocking. In reality: I was having pleasant conversations with my colleagues. I ended up leaving early. If I had stayed, I'm sure I would have broken into tears, or started punching people, or had a seizure. I'm sure of it.
I need to cry. Knowing the triggers lets me explore what grieves me, and that exploration always brings me to tears. Right now: I'm totally oblivious, and I have this painful need for release. Maybe I'll get lucky and be able to cry, but more often than not, I can't find anything that will bring myself to tears. Maybe this will be another one of those weeks where I suffer in the dark, and, perhaps, three months later I'll understand just what was wrong.