I hate…

I hate feeling like shit.

I hate being in pain.

I hate crying.

I hate feeling abandoned by some people.

I hate being without my son.

I hate that I am probably affecting those around me.

I hate that my younger son is in pain.

I hate that Bryce didn’t get to live his life.

I thought we had more time. More time together. More time together as a family. I thought he had more time with his brother. I thought he had more time with his dad’s side. I thought he had more time with his love. And with his friends.

Every day, I wake up. Every day, I go about my day with either work or whatever other thing needs to be done. Every day, I smile at least once. But yet…every day, I also cry at least once.

I am so tired of crying and I am so tired of being in pain. The pain is unbearable. Anytime I have a day where I have some sort of fun or happiness, I find myself snapping right back into the pain shortly after…as if my brain is an asshole that wants me to never be happy again.

Every motorcycle I hear. Every motorcycle I see. They all make me think of my baby. Sometimes I like it…sometimes I don’t. I know that isn’t a bad thing but it also doesn’t always feel the best.

It’s truly hard to think about what might make me feel better when I really think that the only thing that will do it would be to have my baby back. Sure, counseling might help. Sure, meds might help. Sure, time might help.

But nothing will REALLY make me feel better other than having my son back and that can’t happen. I will never be the same person. I don’t want to be an empty shell of a person and what scares me is that that is what will become of me. I feel myself slipping in that direction. Grief is fucked up and does fucked up things to people.

I don’t know how to heal. I don’t know if I will even be able to heal. But I still need to find a way to not become that empty shell.