After losing a parent to suicide, Isobel Beech started pretending everything was fine. Then she began writing
Before my first brush with real grief I had imagined what it might feel like. I’d wondered – in the recesses of my mind more than anything – if it would hurt, physically, or feel like at all heartbreak. I also wondered if it might be the thing that finally flicked the switch on my every-now-and-then generalised anxiety, turning it into a full-blown psychotic break. But it wasn’t like any of that.
When I lost a parent to suicide, there was a week or two of numbness. I suppose it was shock. And then I began pretending everything was fine.
