Mourning

"His First Grief" (1910) by Charles Spencelayh
Credit: mylearning.org -  licence

The protagonist in my novel is called Michael.

Someone Michael loves is now dead.

Michael feels misery like he has never felt it before. It is a lowness that he can't seem to snap out of.

The days become weeks. The weeks become months. Life goes on. 

But it remains there, loitering in the periphery. That lingering misery. He just can't seem to shake it off. 

It's not like it's a mysterious sensation - he knows why he is low: he has lost his best mate.

But now that he is gone, it suddenly becomes clear how high a position in Michael's life his best mate held. He was helping Michael stay afloat.

I got my exam results recently and now my mood is low.

It's the summer holidays so I find nice things to do with my day. 

But it remains there, loitering in the periphery. That lingering misery that I just can't seem to shake off. It's a murky tinge over every word I say and every thought.

It's not like it's a mysterious sensation - I know why I'm low: I didn't pass an exam. I have to retake it.

But now that I've failed, it suddenly becomes clear how high a position in my life my exams have held. Success at university was helping me to stay afloat.

Now, Michael doesn't feel much drive to get back up. He doesn't enthusiastically dust himself off and carry on.

He wants to wallow in self-pity. He wants to sleep, to cry. He wants to mourn.

And I didn't have the heart to go straight back to my books. I didn't reply to the news saying, "Let's go revise for the retake! I'm going to ace it this time!"

Thank God I never fell so far, but honestly, I felt close to being too miserable to do anything.

I understand that desire to wallow. To sleep, to cry. I understand that desire to mourn.

SI