8.04.2017

Fuck.

Grief. It’s dark and it’s all-consuming. It's a fall off a tall building; the wind hitting me so hard I can’t breathe. Before I know it, I’m gasping for air but the tears are already coming and I am choking on those too. The emotions hit the same way I will when I meet the ground below. They hold nothing back and they go straight for my heart.

One minute I’m a walking, talking, human, the next, I am reduced to a crumpled-up paper bag. No air in me. My trunk and limbs are see through, my bones don’t exist. I could blow away at this very moment because what I had is gone now, forever. It just is. Sometimes we don’t get the closure we want. 

Foolishly at first I tried to think my way out of this free fall. I grasped for what I could on the descent. Some of those things slowed the fall, some sped it up. In either case, I kept falling. For a week.

And it hurts being here at the bottom. Crumpled garbage. When grief does its job, it leaves no part of you untouched. My heart is broken, I am broken, life seems broken. Life’s hit man just took a shot at me.

Will I make it out alive?
(Of course, I fucking better.)
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