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atsinnermonologue · 4 years

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The Ball & The Box: a response

I read a post recently by Lauren Herschel on Twitter that makes a wonderful analogy to the process of grieving. In this analogy, there is a large ball that takes up almost the entirety of a box. This ball represents grief, and the box represents daily life. On the side of the box is a pain button. When you first experience grief in its rawest, newest form, the ball is so large that it has no room in the box to move around, and it hits the pain button on the side of the box at any given time, representing the ways that grief can hit in profound, unexpected ways, sometimes catching you completely off-guard.

The good news in this analogy is that the further a person gets from their grief--that is, as time passes--the ball gradually gets smaller. For every individual, this process is unique to their experience. Some people’s grief ball shrinks quicker or slower than others. Eventually, the ball gets so small that it may hardly hit the pain button at all, or it becomes more manageable when it does hit that button. Regardless, it symbolizes the healing process and epitomizes the common cliche that “time heals all wounds.” While this pain almost never dissipates completely, it becomes a hurdle that we eventually overcome and learn to accept.

This analogy is something I have to remember, because I find myself getting sentimental from time to time about people and events that have not crossed my mind in months or even years. We are living in such a difficult moment right now in the United States, from COVID-19 to protests for basic human rights, and it is easy for one’s mental health to deteriorate with these circumstances. I am not immune to it myself (far from it), and despite the fact that these events might not always affect me directly, I battle my own demons as a result of increased stress, anger, and disappointment with humanity in general.

Currently I am dealing with a resurgence of internalized trauma, resulting from a decade-long friendship with someone who hurt me deeply. I recently unblocked a former friend of mine on Instagram (mistake number one) because in all honesty, I wanted to see what she had to say about the Black Lives Matter movement. Long story short, I spent too much time on her page as well as her personal website. The tiny pain button in the corner of my heart has been triggered, not dissimilar to the bouncing “DVD” logo on ‘90s screensavers when, on rare occasion, it hits the corner of the screen perfectly. That screen corner is my button, and the DVD logo is Ashley. Ashley may or may not be a real name or a pseudonym--it’s beside the point--but this is a moment when I am hit with the unexpected return of negative feelings towards her.

While it does not serve me to turn to particular examples (I could spend a lifetime overanalyzing her online presence to look for some reference to her years with me, because I’ve come to realize that she will truly never acknowledge it), I want to acknowledge this pain and admit to myself that even though she hurt me, she is probably not a bad person, and even if she is, that is no longer relevant to me. She made me the person I am today, whether she realizes it or not, but I have to take that in stride. I am worthy of love, value, and affection, despite the fact that she did not grant those things to me. I cannot view my experience with her in a vacuum--there are a multitude of factors that led me to be the person I am today. In fact, I would argue that the 2020 version of myself is largely derived from my current relationship of six years. The man I am devoted to is, in fact, my best friend, and if losing Ashley meant that I would have this man as my best friend instead, so much the better. My friendship with Ashley was unhealthy--toxic, even, at times--and like a first relationship, just because it’s the first real, organic bond I had with another human being, does not mean that it was the best one.

Ashley has agency. She is her own person, with her own career and her own talents. I doubt she thinks of me on a regular basis, but I do not doubt that I cross her mind from time to time. If I’m a betting woman, I would wager that from her perspective, *I* was the toxic one, and perhaps I treated her badly at times, as well. It is not so easy to see or admit that from my own perspective, but I will lay it out here, to the ether, to get it off my chest. Ashley is, and has always been, a social-climber. It’s plain truth. She has always cared deeply about what other people think of her, and it is extremely important for her to be accepted and liked by as many people as possible. I can't exactly fault her for it, either, because in my own way, I am also desperate for attention and acceptance by other people. Ashley has not reached out to me in several years; from my recollection, I have not spoken to her since she announced that she was making a surprise visit to the town that I am currently in, which is a large city, and the reason for her visit was not related to me in any way. As such, I gave her a canned response about enjoying her time and to let me know if she wanted any restaurant or tour recommendations, and that was that.

I see two possibilities for our lack of communication: she has truly moved on from having me in her life, and she truly does not think of me anymore, in which case, perhaps the falling-out was not so much a conflict as it was a slow drift, which is probably the most common reason for the death of youthful friendships. The second possibility is that, in my response to her treatment of me, I was not good to her towards the end of our communication, and she decided I was not worth her time or effort. This is probably not likely, however, because I would expect her to have me blocked on all social media, and I would not expect her mother to maintain a good friendship with my mother to this day. From what I understand, I was the one to cut her off, not so much because of her current actions but because I needed to cut her out of my life for my own mental health. Perhaps it is really not that deep, after all.

The truth of the matter is that when I peeked at her social media, I saw a different person from the person I once knew. The Ashley I knew was, first of all, NEVER serious, and when she was serious, she was selfish. The Ashley of 2020, from what it appears, seems more charitable, more caring--or at the very least, portrays the image of caring, which is still better than not doing anything at all (I am referring lightly to activism in this instance). The Ashley of 2020 is apparently charitable enough to get praise through Instagram comments from none other than my own sister, which is probably why I felt the resurgence of pain--I told my family how hurt and betrayed that Ashley made me feel, and their response was to keep in touch with her and her family, anyway, which feels like a separate betrayal by people who are SUPPOSED to care about my wellbeing--but I cannot control other people’s friendships and relationships. It is better that I keep Ashley out of my life until I am able to make my peace with our experience together. Unless something changes in the future that requires communication or admittance of fault (on either side, frankly), her presence in my life will only hold me back from living the way I want to live.

This is one segment of my grief ball and box. Though my problems are minor in the grander scheme of things, my experiences make me who I am. My pain is valid even if other people do not see, hear, or understand it. Every day I walk on this Earth, I strive to do things that make me happy. True happiness requires self-reflection and inner peace. I want to continue working on it daily.

#personal #grief #reflection #journal

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