It takes about a week for me to settle into somewhat of a routine. Time still feels unfocused, more like I’m existing than living. The entire world is steeped in a haze of grief that keeps me numbed even when I urge myself not to be.
But at least the routine keeps me busy. It keeps me up and moving.
I’m still on leave from the academy, undecided if I want to return to teaching at the same place I collapsed and then lost my baby.
Hour to hour, my mind changes.
Mom and I spend a lot of time together, shopping and cooking and even going to the gym together to get some movement. Kelly comes over and sometimes we go for coffee, where she gushes more about her boyfriend Hyun-woo.
I’ve found a counselor. An American expat therapist based in Suyeong who specializes in grief and trauma.
When the afternoon of my first appointment rolls around, we talk about the miscarriage. She listens without judgment as I explain how my relationship with Jin quickly deteriorated and how I’ve been left heartbroken and feeling as if my life is completely derailed.
As tears water my eyes, she reminds me it’s okay to let it out. To cry or sob if I need to.
Something I’ve been forcing myself to stop doing, otherwise I’d be an even bigger mess than I already am.
Our next appointment is in a week.
It’s a start. More than Jin was willing to do.
After the session, I decide to treat myself to something small. A tiny act of normalcy. I take the subway to Unnie’s Cafe, one of my favorite spots from before.
The cozy little place smells like freshly ground coffee beans and still has the cute strung lights draped across the ceiling like constellations. As always, jazzy music plays in the background, the furniture comfy and mismatched.
I order a Dalgona latte and find a seat by the window, savoring the sweetness of the toffee flavoring while appreciating the frothy smoothness from the coffee itself.
Maybe if I can focus on little things like this and still find ways to enjoy them, I can get back to feeling more like myself.
Unfortunately, the feeling fades by the time I leave the café and step onto the busy street. I go from quiet and cozy in the café to disoriented and overwhelmed on the loud, crowded sidewalks.
There’re too many people passing me by. Too many cars in traffic.
I glance around, suddenly paranoid, a prickle of unease striking me. I’m not sure how it’s possible to feel so alone yet so overstimulated and crowded at the same time.
It’s as I pick up my pace and start hurrying down the street that I realize it’s something I can’t shake. The anxiety goes where I do as I glance over my shoulder and paranoia tells me I’m being watched.
I’m beingfollowed.
Not just by the anxiety or depression.
This is more than the grief itself.
It’s the kind of unsettling watchful dread that I’m in imminent danger. There’s no escape and nothing I can do.
I rush down the stairs leading to the subway underground. But even as I board the train and ride it through different neighborhoods, I’m left with the same unease.
My eyes travel between the strangers around me, and my mind tells me something’s off.
Something’s wrong.
I dig my phone out of my purse and do what feels natural, typing up a text to Jin.
I think someone’s following me.
The other night there was a black car outside my window.
Now I’m out in Suyeong and I feel like I’m being
