The boxes are leaking

Have I shared with you my really super excellent method of coping with everything? I can’t remember. But considering this past week I've already lost my car keys twice ( found!) and bank card ( no idea) that's hardly surprising. For those of you who don't know my amazing none-therapist-endorsed method of dealing with all of life’s shit it’s basically me placing those memories, thoughts, or issues in metaphorical boxes then filing them away on a shelf somewhere in my brain. I avoid opening said boxes at all costs. Or maybe open one in isolation under controlled conditions ( or with one of those remote controlled robots used for suspicious packages) if lifting the lid is completely unavoidable. 

Traumatic labour? In a box

Bad news about Nate? In a box ( several needed) 

Filing for bankruptcy? In a box

Losing home, possibly not having anywhere to live? In a box

Child turning blue? In a box 

Frustrated at the system? Readily accessible box

Gave child hereditary x linked condition? BOX!!!

No respite? Put firmly in a box, pretend to be managing. 

Fool that I am my imaginary boxes are constructed of cardboard, rather than something a bit sturdier, like, I don't know, metal. Stupid brain. These boxes are neatly arranged on shelves straight out of those scenes in the X Files or police dramas where the evidence is stored away in dusty rooms and monitored by some doddery old dude. My shelves are pretty full. Actually the whole storage room is chocka. 

I've now had to add a box of shock and grief following the sudden and unexpected death of my Dad to one of the shelves. I'm not going to talk about his death. I just can't. But this overfilled and heavy box has had to be shoved in between the other boxes. It's been jammed in, squishing it's neighbours, causing strain and tears, and now all of my boxes are leaking. 

I am aware that this probably isn't the healthiest coping method. I really am. However without this compartmentalization how can I function? 

The thing about a close death is that it makes you think. You begin to strip down and analyse every part of your own life and reorder your priorities ( if any reordering is required). Death, ultimately, has become more real. I spent my younger years feeling pretty invincible, and felt that my parents were too.

But no one is. 

Running alongside the pain and grief is the absolute head fuck that is the contemplation of your own mortality and that of those closest to you who remain, so it's pretty unsurprising that all of my boxes are leaking. 

Send towels.

Addition: 

( thank you for the offers of hugs, wine, sellotape, blue tack, and Tupperware 😘)