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The day your dad dies you will be seventeen years old. You will be in the middle of creating a bullet journal page for the upcoming year. You will be sitting in front of your couch and making a habit tracker page. You will use hearts as the markers for February. You will forget to fill it in as the time passes. You will be on day 13, you’ll draw a heart with a red marker and write a small number 13 in the middle of the heart. Your house will have a long hallway that connects

My father has been dead for over 4 years, 1,721 days to be exact. You would think that by now I would be better or “fixed” but in reality: the culture surrounding grief is fucked. Nobody really knows how to handle it and many people chalk it up to “I’m sorry”. Megan Devine, author of It’s OK That You’re Not OK does an amazing job of dissecting grief and showing how skewed this culture has made it. Grief is looked at as a gross tumor implanted in peoples lives when they lose s

Grief is not love in a heavy coat. The quote got it wrong. Grief is bitter and sharp. When I stand and face god I will ask him why he took you away and walk before I hear the answer. I am not better because of this, I have fought wars with anger to be this kind. I am so tired of being brave. I am not brave, I am scared. I am so scared to keep going without you. I am so scared how much this hurts, how sad I am. I want to feel better but I don’t know when I will. They all said

May 21st, 2023: 8:24pm And what will you do when I leave? Will you writhe, and scream, and wither away? Or will you grow, and plant a seed that will cause you to change? Maybe you not changing was the first step of my acceptance of the toxicity that rots in your bones. It rots and it festers and it bubbles up to the surface, spilling over like the wine that stained my carpet last weekend. The love is lost, long gone when it got caught up in the wind and carried off to a far a

Driving with no airbags, ice skating, hugging my mother, pouring out bottles of wine, romanticizing my life in a weird depressive way, holding back tears, listening to Maria Mena, talking to 3 people, reciting lines, losing the love I have, being sober, visiting his grave, blacking out in my childhood bedroom, wrapping gifts, painting cherries, loving with no intentions of continuing, taking the pills, hoping to disappear, having a first last kiss, straight A’s, learning to t