Grief sucks... so bad.

I think my grief is starting to take over.

I’m not too sure what I’m trying to say by that, or how exactly I’m expecting a conversation like this to make any sense, and I guess that’s just the shitty part of it.

It doesn’t make sense to anyone else, so describing it and explaining feels like too much; it’s because the feeling itself is too much.

I hate saying that I’m "plagued" by sadness, but life is starting to feel like that, or that it’s headed that way. All of this sounds so dramatic, and I truly take full responsibility for how overexplained this will all be, but I’m hoping this is a great outlet to start processing it.

The worst part for me is when I sleep and dream. I cannot wait to go to sleep; I swear that I can be back in the space and situation with that person. I can feel the furniture, the atmosphere, the smells; their energy is right there, and it’s alive. Then nothing. I open my eyes, and it’s a lingering feeling of their presence, and then the aching becomes primal; it’s like an unpleasant sensation, almost. Like when you go to a haunted house, and you can feel the characters standing over your shoulder, breathing, and for a moment you can sense that something is around you.

I really do understand why some people just completely get lost in it.

I feel like Coraline when she’s trying to escape the other mother and crawling out of a tunnel that feels like it’s getting further and further away the more you grasp towards the handle to get to the other side.

I’ve been praying to my saints; I’ve been getting myself out and about, but it’s a fog or a mist over everything; that sensation just doesn’t go away.

And I’m so angry, all of the time. I may not show it or let it out, but oh goodness, am I so angry. I don’t even know what at!

I guess I’ll leave this post with this story from Isle of the Dogs (wild comparison, I know lol)

I Don't Know Why I Bite

I bite because it’s all I’ve ever known.

To survive, I have to live with all the rage and anger within me. I don’t know how to be gentle — my teeth always crave flesh, like a monster, a beast waiting for its victim.

I didn’t know how to love without making them bleed. My love always leaves marks of my teeth.

I’ll understand if you leave. I apologize; it would have been so terrible to be loved by me.

After all, how could I offer gentle hands when all I knew were claws?

The world taught me to defend myself with teeth bared and a growl simmering in my chest. I wasn’t always this way. I’m still grieving for the person I’ve become. I didn’t want to be the monster they turned me into.

I am what I am because they trained me. I bottled up all this rage as a child, believing that if I didn’t raise my voice, I would remain invisible. If you don’t shout, you’re drowned out by the noise inside our house; if you don’t scream, they won’t hear you at all.

It was as if silence was a punishment, and only the loudest voice could demand their attention. All this rage is still within me, like a storm trapped behind a dam, waiting for the right moment to explode. Every outburst is a reminder of how close I am to becoming what I’ve always hated — the thing I promised I’d never become. I’ve become too numb to the pain I always begged not to feel anymore. It’s so hard being raised in hate and fear — I’ve become a stranger to love.

I don’t know how to love.
I build a shield of thorns around myself, so that any hurt I inflict becomes a way to avoid the deeper cuts within. I caused them pain so that I wouldn’t feel it.

I’ll find a way to make them leave; I’ll sabotage every relationship when they start to experience something new — something I’ve never felt before. I don’t deserve it. I know, I don’t deserve it.

The need to destroy any connection that might introduce me to a different kind of love. The fear that I don’t deserve this warmth makes me push them away, ensuring I stay in the only place I’m familiar with, even if it means being alone.

I thought I only bit the people around me, but then I sank my teeth into my own flesh. I’ve bitten myself too.

I’m not a violent dog, but what if I am?

I’m scared. I don’t want to be like this forever. If only I could remove all my teeth, my claws, my raging eyes — strip away the parts of me that I never wanted to have.

Tell me, how much violence do I need to release to feel what gentleness is? How many layers of anger and hurt must I shed to be free?

“I wish we could’ve met as kids; you would’ve loved the softer me.”

But I'm still trying. I really want to get better and see a much happier and brighter side to everything, but missing people who will never be around you again in this lifetime is just too infinite to think about and be okay with. I know I should be grateful that I knew them and loved them enough to miss them forever, but it's just not fair.