The Flood

I cried. I think writing the last post opened the gate to the flood. I hadn't cried in a long time. Much longer than usual before this happened. I thought about it for a while. But not long. Even now I'm already putting it straight out of my mind again. I've shut the gate. This kind of thing is hard in ways you didn't even know existed before it happens to you. My brain isn't ready for this kind of thinking. I think I know now why I put off watching the end of season six and season seven of Grey's Anatomy for so long. I kept it for a time when I'd need it. It has always been my way of diverting thoughts. I used to use it years ago to allow my insomniacal brain to concentrate on something else so I wasn't thinking my usual thoughts so I could sleep. It worked. And now I'm using it to stop thinking about this. Maybe I want to stay in stage one, stay in denial for a bit longer. I mean, it's not like it's a race to get through the five stages. You're supposed to take it slowly. So, I guess I'll keep watching Grey's Anatomy and after that I can progress. My mind needs a break at the moment, a moment to rest before it has to cope with this loss for the rest of my life. And if it takes me a month to watch all the remaining episodes, though that might seem a long time to not think for, in the grand scheme of things, if I've got another sixty years left, it's not that long. The flood can wait.