I write about my grief and I have people texting me that it’s going to be okay. They send me voice notes telling me how much they love me, and how they show up with a bar of extra chocolate in their bag just in case they have to cheer me up with sugar, but they don’t understand how every inch of my being is submerged into grieving. I cannot breathe in sunshine and I cannot romanticize rain because I have a resting tornado in my heart that will continue to twirl and uproot all my insides because that’s just who I am. The layer of darkness resides inside me and every vulnerable part of my body, and it reflects misery as my eyes leak, my lips quiver, and my hands turn pale, but that’s just who I am. You cannot separate my misery from me.
