There isn't much space for grief. It's almost a month into grief group and I haven't quite gotten a handle on the impulse to feel ??? about mentioning non-death-related grief. Of all the things that are never talked about, maybe that one is the real kicker - we spend so much time trying to convince ourselves and the people around us that we are in fact OK. Maybe I should consider myself lucky. I am disabused of this obsession to present a face - when you've broken down in front of strangers and relied on the kindness of other women, or seen the abject indifference, contempt and annoyance by people with vastly different lives, this doesn't cross my mind. 

Perhaps the one good thing about dealing with trauma is building trust in yourself, and the idea that your good intentioned best efforts are good enough for you, and so they better damn well be good for anyone else. I'm focusing on trying to have feelings. It is terrifying and electrifying, it feels so foreign and new and this is what I want to live. I want each moment to belong to me and feel important. Initially there is such sadness, and an awareness of how lonely I have been, and how ill-equipped I am to get through what is asked of me. So many things at once.

As a child I escaped into libraries and movies. As an adult I am a writer and a filmmaker, when I am not activating Mother-Of-Children mode. I met up with my filmmaking friends and my best friend, J, is dreaming up this anthology film based in our mid-sized town and talking about what he is looking for, in his film and all his undetermined characters, is authenticity. I don't know how to relate, even theoretically. My adult life, the last fifteen years, has been so full of... the lives and needs of others, really big moves, blocking out different sorts of abuse close to my core, and then such great and profound sadness. A palpable loneliness. Need. Abandonment. Betrayal. 

"There are no half-measures", I have said at various stages in my life. So this is true. I am hopeful, but I think in time to come, there won't be anything left to be afraid of ("besides fear itself!" I say like a horror movie poster). I am honest, self-aware and vulnerable. If I were to aspire to be anything less than those things, I would be a ghost. An anxious, isolated creature that reacts and performs socially, societally, hoping my kids don't see that there's no light in my eyes.