I remember the first time someone told me I was flailing. It was over ten years ago after my big surgery and my breakup. I told my therapist that I felt lost, alone, and completely broken, and she said, “It sounds like you’re flailing.” What a great way to describe what I was feeling. It hit the nail right on the head.
This past year has been a doozie. It has flipped me over and turned me on my head, and I am flailing again. I feel completely lost; I have no idea what to do with myself or how to begin moving forward. My ten years of self-improvement seem to have flown out the window overnight, and I am fragile. I cry over everything and nothing, and that is just not me.
2024 Started Great
The year started off great. I finally finished and published a book I was really proud of. It was my literal dream come true. I had fabulous marketing plans, and on the day that I launched the book, we found out my father had stage 4 lung cancer and only weeks to live. That was quite the punch to the stomach. I had to cancel all my marketing plans and only sold a few copies of the book, and now I don’t even care that much. Caring about anything takes too much energy these days.
The Start of My Fall
During the summer and fall, I had to focus squarely on taking care of my mother, who took my father’s death very hard. We had to pack up her house and move her, which was emotionally and physically demanding. There were thousands of things to do, and I did them all. I am proud of how I handled it, and as long as my list had one more to-do on it, I was fine. I buried all those grief feelings down deep and just kept “doing.”
All of that took its toll on me, and I ended up in the hospital for three days with kidney stones. Then, in November, I had to have two surgeries, and it was an awful month filled with pain, suffering, and a lot of crying. I lost 15 pounds without even trying. My reflection in the mirror looked gaunt, like a stranger.
Flailing After Death
Since then, I haven’t been able to get back on track. I feel like a raw nerve, and I don’t know how to get back to my life, start writing again, finish my other books, or move on. Flailing sounds a lot like failing. I can no longer tell the difference.
Losing someone doesn’t just make you feel sad. It forces you to evaluate your entire life and think about your own mortality. I think about my daughter, and I wish she was little so I could do it all over again. Life was so simple back then. I hate being older; I wish I were young again. Can’t everything just go back to the way it was and not be how it is now? I hate the responsibilities I now have, and I must do so many things I don’t want to do. The elephant sitting on my chest is getting very heavy. My head is filled with unrealistic wishes. I don’t know where I fit into life anymore. I can’t imagine anything ever feeling good again. Some nights, I feel reckless, others listless. It is a constant roulette wheel of emotions, and I am not used to feeling this way. I realized today I am flailing. I am falling a million miles into an abyss, my arms flapping with no way to stop the descent or find a way back up. I wonder what I will find at the bottom.
Memories, Memories, and More Memories
When a parent dies, it also unleashes memories, dozens of them. My mind is filled with things I want to remember and things I don’t. During the last few weeks of my father’s life, I was busy trying to fix things for him, and I didn’t get that special moment with him where we could say goodbye. By the time it was all done, he was gone. I don’t want to remember the way his body looked when I had to verify it was him before he was cremated. That memory haunts me. It’s nothing anyone should ever have to do. The nice man at the funeral home was patient with me and handed me tissues silently. I will always be grateful for his presence. Still, I want that memory out of my head.
The Solution to Flailing
I would love to say I have a solution or provide some inspirational fix for those who can relate to what I am going through, but I am sorry, I don’t. I wish I did. I think it’s just something I must go through: cry every tear, take every step, and feel every emotion. Some days, I don’t think the tears will ever stop. I am trying to get out of bed each day, stumble along, and feel around in the dark, and I hope and pray that, eventually, I will start to feel better and more like myself again. I want to start writing again; I have books and books in my head that need to get out, but getting off the couch feels like climbing Mount Everest right now. I want to start living again, but I can’t remember how. I never imagined losing my father would have such an impact on my life. But here I am, flailing like a pro. Maybe tomorrow will be better. I say that to myself every night, every single night. Perhaps tomorrow, I will be right.
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