The 5 Stages of Grief with the Addition of One

Of late I’ve encountered the many stages of grief but I had read that there were 5. Elisabeth Kubler – Ross tells me, that there are 5 stages of grief. We grieve by denial, followed by anger then we bargain, moving slowly into depression and finally acceptance. I did feel that denial is like steady rain, it’s there outside your window but you can’t hear it quite for it is so symmetrical, so ordered that the absence of chaos makes its presence an absence. So, for me denial was like this steady rain that was there but not there. I couldn’t engender it in a sentence and make a speech for its existence in my routine.

Denial is almost beautiful – you have faced an ungodly act of destiny whereby suddenly you feel all you know is what you didn’t know, what you couldn’t fathom, see or hear. I lived in a state of denial for three whole years, whereby I saw things that were real but I denied their existence. My mind questioned the very sanity of my thoughts, I had not a single soul, not a mirror to reflect onto my feelings an ounce of truth. There was denial, for three years, sitting beside me like a ghost of my own actions whispering into my years that this cannot be. 

When there were enough voices, coming out of bodies made with flesh & blood I believed. I slowly believed in the truth, the inspiring uplifting truth. The beauty of which is, it is a slap in the face of a hysterical child – you snap out of denial. But followed by realisation is another childlike emotion which is quite nasty. It’s like a dragon breathing breaths of extinguished flames. Your body is filling up with extinguished fumes or that is what you think. I have heard people tell me things about passivity; the thought of crimes of passion, the imaginative sand castles that aren’t that innocent – what really happens when the floodgates of hell open. Anger takes over. Anger has a funny way of changing your very core. I was asleep or sleep walking. To suppress your anger is quite like tying a rottweiler’s face – the moment you untie it, there will be blood.

What happens when your anger is to no end, no true purpose?

it aches. 

I suffered at the hands of anger for a while. Someone said it’s quite poisonous; I understood the fallibility of other people better, though. My mind told me, they are humans prone to making ugly decisions, decisions that hurt others. I’ve made some too. I have hurt people, walked off when I thought it suited me, it was better for my own well-being. However, all the good-human-talk is of no use. By the end of a good day, the nasty thoughts are back and I was angry again. Will it make me a horrible person to want to hurt someone physically, to wish another human being dead? Of course it will. Anger just helps you break a few moral barriers and the human ones too.

This morning I sat thinking to myself, am I going through the regular model of grief. For I felt I could forgive. For a moment, I could pity & see the frail loneliness that they suffered too. I could see through all my aggression, how they were just bound by the longing for a love unrequited. I guess, I have been there in his shoes. I have learnt to love better ever since. Here I was experiencing compromise, without even knowing it. I will continue to bargain I suppose, in my pleas to hurt less or to turn back time, but the rational Ego knows better. I couldn’t for a moment control my Id I felt, it was wayward it wanted self-mutilation, it wanted to drink the rationality down or to put into a silent state of slumber. I’m better than that, I know. That self-knowledge does mostly come to rescue.

Did you know a cold wind, strongly blowing the breath out of you helps? I didn’t. Now I do.

I think there is this one stage that Kubler-Ross didn’t mean for us to know but discover. The phase of ‘being’. Where you learn to ‘be’. It is beyond acceptance for you have accepted what is, what cannot be and how it happened. You’ve given up the arms you took up against God, humans & chance events knowing your own ineptitude as an insignificant tiny human on a map of billions. I think in the middle of all that dust settled books, the piles of unsorted clothes & the mess of medicines at my bedside I found I was still uneasy – nothing had changed really. He was who he was, she was who she was. I was, well an accident. I could now be with the rationale that accidents happen – all the time. I could be alone with myself and smile because accidents do happen. This time one happened close to home. That was all.

We shared a chromosome

I occupied the chair,

she could sit on my leg.

I would laugh like a maniac,

her giggles often suppressed.

She wouldn’t be stern, or ask for what she wants,

I was needy enough to beg.

She hid behind the silence,

I hid behind the guffaws.

Honest to god,

she was some years younger to me,

but wiser in her thoughts.

I had sex like a whore,

Her dignity, like a chanderi she wore.

Maybe, she’ll be a doctor.

Maybe, she’ll go to the States.

Making her way into my dreams,

she was now the story of success.

All I shared with her,

was the chromosome X.

Letter to an Invisible Man

Hi, you!

I think it is difficult for me to let go of your beautiful eyes staring at me; the way that playful smile lingers near your soft cheeks when you quietly call out to me for the forbidden things, that you and I do when no one is looking. Your voice, husky and almost rude; it often sounds like a comfort or privilege over the phone. How dearly you would calm my nerves, when I would feel like my chest will implode with worries of not now but tomorrow, the day after & so on.

You, beautiful unknown soul that resonates my own tune in most horrors. Our love for hedonism, childlike glee in looking at the drudgery of common folk, a shared sense of prestige in the flukes, or the near misses. When you laugh, it’s hard not to follow suit – it’s like that nasty bird in the dead of night. I wonder why you run after me like a mother and knock sense into me like a father.

You sting me like a poison, so strong. You push against me like a force of nature, edging me toward acceptance & delusion together. In your baby palms, I feel the icy cold touch of lies and your inhuman eyes sometimes I cannot read no matter how hard I try. Sometimes your smile is inviting, and when I try to come close you run away. Like a cat you hide behind the cigarette smoke, peering at me with that sarcastic smile and I feel naked suddenly.

There are so many little things I mull over in your absent presence, how swiftly you take charge of the sweat on my brow.
Your feminine grace, your masculine pride runs through me like the incense of a musty wooden bookcase with stories I am dying to read.

Often in the silence of the night, when no one is looking your presence is only that of a body silently stationed next to my trembling hands racing on the keyboard like they would want to get past the future of impending disasters in a few keystrokes. How it is to be, that you’re only a story – a riddle I sing to myself, when the agony of my untouched soul screams to be heard. I pacify the little child this heart is, by spinning the wheel and making that golden yarn to tie the little notes of missing chapters from my life.

Here you are, away in another world or another reality. Your words remain, your stupid jokes remain and so does your bloated sense of amazement at how I feel about myself. You are truly the forbidden fruit, I don’t wish to seek. How adorable would be though, I wonder…to lie in the comfort of your checkered arm, discussing what life is, what happiness could be. Your life ends at the last period I placed in the notebook from 2014.

Touch of unspoken words

I was feeling the keys,

How the fingers fell between,

the unwritten notes,

of incoherent sighs.

I was hoping to find my voice,

in the monotony of type.

Waiting for the dream thoughts,

to take form. I dreamt more.

Shaping nothingness,

into a mould that dissolved, she tore,

the very real,

she broke, what couldn’t heal.

She stole,

in your words, similes of borrowed beauty.

Will you turn around, tonight?

Missing what shouldn’t be,

kissing the porous moments,

fleeting lies.

Will you be somebody I need?

She wore her questions,

to sleep.

Catharsis

My body won’t stand by me.

How often I tried,

to not feel,

to not hurt,

to not crumble.

My body doesn’t stand beside me…

They tell me,

it’s my mind.

A blur,

a casket,

a song,

a swallow,

the flight to nowhere,

I come home again.

They tell me, it’s me…

My body cannot stand by me.

Echoes of your voice,

your humble beginnings,

of stolen smiles,

laughter in the corridor,

she sticks.

Of dawn, days & nights,

spent in ignorance,

of riddles in your words,

and the silence of your eyes,

she beckons.

It’s quiet out there,

I would like to take that walk with you,

but my body won’t stand by me…

Sleep…she whispers.

Let’s crash together

Breathe less,

talk a little more,

In a string of words,

like morsels on the road.

Dispensed,

by a thread undone.

Hit hard,

picked up by a stranger once.

Take 2,

the scene was dark,

two voices in a dusty room,

only breathing hard.

You saw through me,

I was scared.

I talked less,

we breathed more.