January 3, 2020

Can personal grief be understood by knowledge of an abstract theory?

Kathryn Rattray, 41

Stumbling drunk into my Motel Room on Biscayne Boulevard Miami, high on CBD the memories surged through my whole being and for, I don’t know how long, every image, every sound played on repeat in my mind. I started to rip my clothes violently from my body, hard and fast they fell to the ground, I heard every crease hit the floor and watched the nickels scatter. That feeling returned, my skin made from electricity, sharp it crackled. Flopping to the bed, I struggled to breathe as the tears saturated my dry yet slightly sun kissed cheeks. I had looked for answers in Kubler Ross, did it resonate? Maybe, but what I did know was that it didn’t match the psychological disconnect and physical pain that was my grief. The waves were so powerful they knocked me to the floor where I lay naked for hours. My grief was a noxious cocktail of heartbreak, addiction, starvation, amnesia and distortion, making it impossible to navigate in a world where I no longer belonged. Stumbling drunk into my Motel Room the memories flooded back, at that minute I began documenting my reflections, I let go.

Miami Blue Three, 2019Digital Photography