Belligerent brain goo

Think love is a battlefield? Try grief! To take the metaphor of grief being a battle inside my head to the Nth degree, I've determined that chemical weapons are, in fact, being used by both sides. In fact, it's all chemical warfare! No gas masks can save me now! See, animals have survival instincts, things that happen automatically, for example, releasing chemicals to numb the pain of injury until done running away from the predator who caused the injury. But only humans have grief responses, like producing more CRH, a hormone that, in high levels, is related to major depression. You've heard of dying from a broken heart, right? I'm dealing with survivalist brain chemistry and bereaved brain chemistry simultaneously: it's a lil cray-cray.

In the beginning, the grief's forces overran us! My survival instincts were in full panic-protection mode: we were hunkered in the bunker of my body, barely able to move with all the suppressive fire. There were Griefies in the trees, we were flanked on all sides, and there was no support from the air. Trying to survive, we could do nothing more than sustain the position. But in recent months, the survival instincts have been striking back! After such a long siege, morale is low among the Griefies. My will to survive is rallying the troops for a new stand!

The absolute beauty of this battle is that however it goes in the short-term, I know already who will win in the end. I will survive. I'm not going to die from a broken heart. That threat level has been lowered from red to orange. Grief won't win a war of attrition: I can endure. I can't tell you what it means for me to be able to say that, but it's true. Even though it has often felt like I'm dying, and many days, I still lose little skirmishes and sorties. Grief likes to pick fights, but survival wants them to end.