But when I’m bad… I’m REALLY fucked up.
There seems to be no in between for me with this grief journey.
I’m either good, happy, dating, getting on with life, or I’m a sobbing mess.
Why can’t I have some in between?
Some sadness without broken?
I think, maybe, just maybe, because I’m able to disassociate, because I’m able to shunt it to the recesses of my mind, that when I dare to open up that box, when I dare to look in on the pain… that it’s like snakes in a can – it explodes into a mess and it’s a bitch to get back in the can.
And I’m left broken with a mess to clean up.