You'll be interested to know that my life has been in shambles for the past week, obviously for reasons related to Grey's Anatomy. I don't know why I keep watching that show.. it's like being in an abusive relationship where Shonda Rhimes repeatedly tears my chest open with a jackhammer, rips my heart out with her vicious (and probably manicured) fingernails, mashes it into a bloody pulp with the sole of her foot, and then lets me clean the mess up so I can run back to her with open arms and she can do it to me all over again.
(if you don't wanna read spoilers GTFO this post)
Like most normal people, I wanted to spend last Friday night bawling uncontrollably, so I decided to watch the Season 9 premiere of Grey's Anatomy. Had I sworn to myself that I would never watch the show again after Lexie Grey died in the dumbest, most painfully self-aware and unnecessarily mortifying episode from Season 8 (which, frankly, felt a lot like 'LOST' in blackface)? Yes. I should have known that this was a terrible idea, given the show's track record for getting rid of all the characters I love the most, like George O'Malley. And Denny Duquette. And Henry. And Lexie freaking Grey.
So when the episode showed the love of my life, Doctor Mark Sloane, lying comatose in a hospital bed, I probably should have turned the TV off and run for my life. But, having already made a number of bad decisions, I just kept on rolling and spent the next 45 minutes on my knees in front of the screen doing this:
To spare you yet another online recap about what happened (I've read a lot of them just to make sure it wasn't all just a terrible, heart-wrenching nightmare), Dr. Sloane died and the rest of my night went as follows:
Shockingly enough, Ernesto was a lot less sympathetic IRL than Owen is being to Cristina here (but he was actually wearing scrubs). Maybe he would have been a little more compassionate if I'd limited myself to less than 60 minutes of non-stop crying after the show was over. Or maybe he's a heartless robot who is incapable of recognizing true love or the tragedy that is losing it. (xoxo luv u chico)
WHY CAN'T MEREDITH BE THE ONE THAT DIES FOR ONCE ALL SHE DOES IS BE ANNOYING AND BREAK GEORGE O'MALLEY'S PERFECTLY GOLDEN HEART AND STEAL BABIES AND WHINE ABOUT HER CHILDHOOD WHICH QUITE HONESTLY WASN'T THAT BAD IT WAS PRETTY EFFING PRIVILEGED AND HER MOM WASN'T EVEN THAT MEAN TO HER
I don't know what official stages of grief are, but here are the ones I've gone through so far:
1. Confusion, where I repeatedly asked myself "Is this real life?"
2. Flood of Emotions, where I cried like a baby for longer than I'm willing to admit, even on here
3. Denial, where I walked around saying that the episode was just wrong. It didn't happen. Nothing happened.
4. Flood of Emotions Pt. II
5. Removal, where I lied on the sofa, unwilling to move or breathe or do anything that would remind me of Dr. Sloane
6. Giving Up, where I decided that nothing in this world matters anymore and put lots of junk in my body until I felt gross
7. Flood of Emotions Pt. III
8. Trying to Find The Sliver Lining, where I think that at least this way, he and Lexie can finally be together
9. Fury, which I unleashed at a certain someone who tried reminding me about the definition of "fiction"
10. Searching for Meaning in All This Chaos, which took place on the internet and mostly resulted in more Floods of Emotion as I browsed through Tumblrs until I felt numb
So if you're wondering why I occasionally wipe a Mark Sloan-shaped tear from my cheeks, refer to the following:
Dr. Sloan, if your fictitious ghost is able to hear my tiny screams of pain into the internet, know that I'll never stop adoring you, or laughing at your inappropriate (but charming) remarks about Avery, or believing that yours is the only facial hair I could stand to look at. I can imagine your surprise when no one else seemed to care enough about your life to commemorate it properly, so I've taken a few minutes to make this and dedicate it to you.
