Brain Fog\Grief Brain

Journal entry by Ann— Feb 26, 2019
No, you are not going crazy, this is a real thing and it’s not just an excuse to be sad, unfocused, or unavailable. Being with others or in a large group, but being mentally unavailable is completely normal. I’ll let you know when that ceases to exist.
My daughter described it best when she said, “Half of my brain is consumed by grief and the other half doesn’t have full functioning capabilities.” Truer words could not be spoken.
As soon as she said it I thought yes, that describes it perfectly. And the part that might function is cloudy and distracted. There are still moments it takes all the focus I can muster to just pay attention. It isn’t a fun way to live. It seems like a person should just be able to snap out of it, but it doesn’t work that way. You have to walk through it, feel everything, and deal with the devastating parts of this grief process for it to get any better or change. Every piece of me wants to battle what grief needs to move forward. Your brain feeds you lies and that is a fight in itself. No part of me wants to really feel and experience any of this pain. It seems the brain and heart are at war. They are not in agreement on how to fight on this broken battlefield.

There are also times when I am UNABLE to focus. I have found my ability to multitask has diminished. I used to be a very organized and an overly prepared person. So the state of mind that I deal with now is frustrating and can leave me feeling defeated. I can get overwhelmed so easy. It is so annoying. When dealing with grief everything feels weighted down and hindered. This can lead to me feeling angry. But sometimes anger is easier to deal with. I know this sounds strange but, in my anger I can pause and take a time out maybe stop feeling even if for just a bit.

I don’t expect this focus and multitasking skill to return any time soon or if it ever will. For me accepting that is the difficult part. In a movie a grieving mom said when you lose a child it’s like two losses; first the loss of your precious child and second the loss of who you used to be. That really hit home. No matter how hard I try to pretend that I am the same, I know that I am not and those who really know me see through my painted veil. I don’t like the new me. When that changes I’ll be sure to let you know.

I don’t like the triggers that are everywhere, the heightened compassion that is always on overdrive, and seeing my family’s faces when they are struggling with dusty eyes. I don’t like the emotions that I can not keep in check, the cloud of grief constantly hanging over my head, and how people seem to move on when you are still in pain. I don’t like the new fears that I am continuously battling, always trying to hold it together, or how people look at you when you uncontrollably cry.
Most of all I don’t like that my boy is not here, that I don’t get to talk to him, snuggle him, and watch him grow into the man of God he was born to be.

Love and hugs, Ann