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I knew that it would take me some time to grasp onto the motion of what had happened. Losing someone is never easy, especially when they’re close to you. It’s hard to forget someone who gave you so much to remember. Death of a loved one is cruel and unfair and I couldn’t grip with the idea that I would never see my uncle again. Grief and guilt were the feelings I was experiencing and I had to look for that one thing that my brain was so desperately trying to find to make me feel better.
However, today I was going to act like nothing had happened because I had to come across strong, but that isn’t how it went.
During the school day, I found myself hiding and distancing myself from others as I didn’t want them to catch a glimpse of what and how much I was eating. This only brought me to feel more shame and guilt as I kept having to remove myself from all social situations just because I was embarrassed.
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“ She followed all my directions. It was really easy to contact her and respond very fast as well. ”
These sugary and fatty foods I was consuming were the only things that were helping me cope with the overwhelming negative emotions of my grief. I hated the feeling of having no emotion but full with emptiness. It wasn’t even the fact that I was necessarily sad, just meaningless, worthless and useless.
As I rapidly opened the refrigerator door, I stared at everything inside it. Looking inside a fridge was like being in a supermarket, so many various items to chose from.
I began counting and picking out all the things I wanted. One thing became two things which became five things. I found myself sitting on the couch watching movie, after movie feeling like I was on the biggest loser not being able to move with the several items I had picked out. However, dinner was a bit more tamed. I consumed food which was relatively healthy, just in very large amounts. One plate of the tender, juicy, grilled chicken alongside a blotch of sticky, squishy rice, I needed seconds and why not go back for thirds. I ate to the point of numbness, until I physically couldn’t take another bite. After dinner is when it really hit me.
It started with a few sensations, cravings. I began with the vanilla caramel brownie tub of connoisseur ice cream. Indulging my way through the rivers of gooey, rich caramel sauce interweaved with the oozing, mooshy brownie pieces carefully chopped and refined into small pieces. Moving onto a box of cookies n’ creme doughnuts. I found myself unable to stop eating once I’d started. The outside, tasting like a sweetened version of white bread, plain however, lightly sweetened. Filled with a lusciously smoothed crushed cookies and cream mix, topped with crushed chocolate cookies and white drizzled icing. One by one, the box of six would slowly dissolve until the very last one was left. I would be completely satisfied. The food provided me with a sense of comfort and service as I enjoyed the luxurious and exciting eating experience. It was within this experience the food would provide me with a sense of purpose and structure to my life when I felt like I didn’t have one. However, that one tub of ice cream wasn’t enough.
After an episode of my excessive eating, I caught myself binging. I continued to eat like a pig until I felt nauseous. That was the problem, I didn’t stop and I couldn’t stop. I would over consume to the point where it hurt. Silency and alone, every bite overtook and consumed every part of my mind. If I was happy I ate, if I was sad I ate. I am never going to win I thought. It wasn’t just food, it was sugar that would provide me with comfort. Sugar became like a drug to me. Once I started, I couldn’t stop.
My bathroom scale would become my confession booth as well as my enemy. The obsession over a number that fluctuates each time my body consumes food was baffling with the thoughts of pain I was already thinking. As I lay in bed tonight, my body was full and bloated, leading myself with more shame than when I began.
My chest could no longer bear with the weight of the sorrowful memories of me and my uncle, I almost felt responsible. But, I realised at that moment that I had to live my life to the fullest as that is what my uncle would have wanted. He would have wanted me to be happy. How was I going to cope with being sad every time he was in the back of my memory. What about all the good memories I share and held with him. The tears began and they kept falling. I was no longer strong, I was no longer empty and I was no longer in grief. The hardest part of losing someone isn’t having to say goodbye, its learning how to live without them. Forever trying to fill the void and emptiness that’s left inside our heart when they go. But sometimes in life its best to let go.
The Grief After My Uncle's Death. (2024, Feb 02). Retrieved from https://studymoose.com/the-grief-after-my-uncles-death-essay
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