I am so fucking tired of being on this fucking grief journey. I am so fucking alone, being so fucking brave, all of the fucking time. Can you tell I am angry?
I am tired of being the lady that is so brave, the lady that continues keeping on after all that has been thrown at her.
I try to find the beauty in life but I wish it would knock on my door for a change and throw itself at me because searching for it is too hard.
I miss my son so much it is like a knife through my heart. Everything is tinged with sadness, regret, anger, pain. I do things but it is all too much, too painful. I didn't want him to suffer any more, the last week of his life was so distressing, but I didn't want him to leave me. I am no one. I am just this shell, a mixture of broken pieces only just held together.
I know I have another son, another son to live for. But this too feels such a responsibility. If he weren't here then I could end my suffering. But I live for him now, and that life is painful. And that pain is hidden so that my surviving son can live his life to the full.
And so it goes on and on and on and on ..........................