No one tells you that grief comes with a gigantic helping of rage…

Rage that no one can handle. Rage that I have to keep suppressed, much like swallowing fire. The burning inside me is white hot. Rage at losing him. Rage at other people going on with their lives while mine is ashes. Rage that he did this. Rage that people don’t know how to keep loving me. Rage at how absolutely unfair all of this is. Rage that he we hurt so badly that he felt he had to die. Rage that there is nowhere to put my pain. Rage that I never have a moment where the weight of this isn’t threatening to crush me. Rage that this is my life now.

Rage that other people don’t understand. They think grief looks like wearing sweats and crying in the middle of a mountain of tissues. It doesn’t. It often looks like my whole body shaking with rage. It looks like pushing my body to its limits to quench the flames a bit. It looks like smiling through clenched teeth so I don’t scream. It looks like saying “I’m fine” when I really just want to break shit. It looks like I have my shit together when I really just want to scream “SOMEONE FUCKING HELP ME!! I DONT KNOW HOW TO CARRY THIS ALONE!!”