we send things underground so we can forget about them

it's awful. i am curled up in a little ball in a corner of my own mind sobbing. that's me. that's that little girl, sobbing, holding her. everything else is this awful, all consuming, miserable grief. it feels like having your skin stripped back from your muscle, exposed to the elements.

i am not in control. this is the grief speaking.
the grief is always speaking.


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