Creative Writing · Dark · Death · Depression · Free Write · Melancholy · Personal · Poetry · Prose · Relationships · Writing

Stages of Grief: Fucking Anger

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Stages of Grief: Fucking Anger


I miss Stewart and I don’t know what to think or feel.

I have trouble processing emotions and describing what I am really feeling.


Anger. 


I am angry that I have to deal with another terrible thing. Angry that he did this. Angry at the pain myself and the others that loved him must now feel.


Angry that he walked away from me. Humiliated me. Cheated on me. Then begged for my attention. Again. Begged for me back. Again. And when I finally decided no; that I wouldn’t play this hot and cold game anymore, I was angry that he would not leave me alone.


Angry that he wouldn’t respect my boundaries.

Angry that he left me to pick up broken pieces.

Angry that he put me in a place to be the decision maker all over.


I am fucking pissed at myself for wanting his love and attention so terribly that I made myself sick.

I hate that I gave everything I had and that he took it all just the same.


I am angry that I had to plead for his loyalty and I am full of rage that he would have the audacity to ask for me back after everything he put me through.


And I am fucking pissed because he was my best friend…. I miss his stupid face that I want to hit and also kiss and never let go of again.


And most of all, I hate that I can not help but love him.


I am angry that after all this bullshit I still love him the same. 

And I am mad that he could not see that.


I regret that we will never go for a drive again. And that I did not take up his offer to go walking in the rain earlier this year because more than anything, I wanted that. I wanted to drop my entire day to be with him again. I spent that afternoon imagining us as lovers, as we once were. I spent those hours weeping at the loss of what could never be.


That we will not go roaming under the stars looking for some meaning on this earth.


I am angry that he left me with these memories that I can never share with any other.


That I have these things inside of me that I can not explain in the way that would make sense to anyone but him. Someone I can be fully free and myself with. No judgement.


Not a care in the entire fucking universe.


No person but you.


I feel such terrible sorrow remembering your grief. That look of broken spirit and defeat sitting in your eyes. How you cried at sentimental moments in movies and songs. How you had heartache most of your life and that it would come out at the strangest, most inconvenient times. Like at 3 a.m. when I needed to be to work at 8.


I am filled with bitter and broken anguish because I am stuck with all of this for the rest of my life and all I truly desire is for you to be back —

Creative Writing · Dark · Death · Depression · Free Write · Healing · I Miss You · Melancholy · Poetry · Relationships · Sadness · TW:Suicide · Writing

Aches and Pains

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A part of me longs to be with you

Blowing off the side of the bridge into the wind

Our bodies wrapping around and through one another

Our souls intertwined for eternity

Nothing between us

No one to separate our love

I yearn for the little boy you were

And the man I fell in love with

I ache for my best friend

To be hand in hand with you again

I wasn’t there to see you go

But I know you are waiting for me

With each breathe

I feel you entering my lungs

Pumping my blood

Your life and your death have fueled me

And the fire burns deep within

The flames and the heat

Ignite the night

I sleep through the daylight

Waiting to meet you once more

Like we have done

In so many lifetimes before

Death · Depression · Free Write · I Miss You · Melancholy · Self-harm · TW:Suicide · Writing

The Last Day 

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After I saw your body, I shook her hand and said, “I am sorry for your loss.” it was the first time that she had looked me in the eyes since we sat in that room together, speaking of urns and how your body could be legally burned.


I feared this day since the moment we met. I could feel that demon circling around you. A dark cloud over a soft heart, so broken.


I used to have nightmares of your death, as you slept next to me. I checked if you were still breathing. I looked for vomit near your mouth. I would stay awake all night holding you. To make sure you were alright.


My entire soul wanted to save you.  I remember  you begging me not to give up on you and I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I stuck by your side until I tried to hang myself 4 years later. I never told you that. I never let you know the things you did pushed me that far, but you saw the cuts on my leg and I think you knew. I think you knew what you did.


You walked away from me and to another woman. I thought “what can she do, that I couldn’t?”I thought you were running away to a better life and leaving me in the dark but I watched from afar as you got sicker. 


Turns out no person could save you.


The last time I saw you alive, you said “I made a mistake,” as tears rolled down both of our faces. I tucked you into your bed, put the covers nice and tight. Made sure you had water. I looked down on your face and kissed your forehead.  I prayed for you to get better. I looked to the sky for strength. I pleaded with the stars to keep you here because I knew I did not have that power; no one did and I could finally see that clearly.


I sat by you longer than I should have and more than anyone else. I loved your chaos, I loved your sweetness that you hid behind sarcasm and a ‘’don’t give a fuck attitude.” You were my dream. Forever haunting me.



I whispered in your ear, blood dried inside, “I love you. I always loved you. I am sorry. It’s okay now and I am not mad. I know you were suffering. Now you are not in pain.” I stroked the stubble on your face. Your skin still felt familiar even when cold and discolored. I have so many memories of those eyes looking down at me. Our lips meeting in the middle. I touched your chest one last time and said goodbye.


Death · Depression · I Miss You · Melancholy · Poetry · Pondering · Reflection · TW:Suicide

Letter to Myself

Me,

You can’t love someone enough.

You can’t love someone into sobriety.

You can’t love someone out of their pain.

And you certainly can not love someone out of killing themselves.

If it were possible this world would be a very different place.

The world would be filled joyous mothers as opposed to grieving ones and the rest of us would have our loved one by our side.

There is not enough love to save someone, you have got to remember that.

You can not martyr yourself attempting to save someone else, although you tried.

You didn’t make it out unscathed.

You branded this person on your heart.

Your soul will never be the same. 

Death · Depression · Free Write · Melancholy · Sadness · Writing

So Much So

So much so.

I’m broken in 12 different ways.

A million pieces of you.

You used to tell me,

“I won’t live to see 40.”

I laughed because I didn’t want it to be true.

I thought we would walk together into

our 60’s, our 80’s.

The memories of drunken nights

And wishing to die would fade into our past.

We were punk rock kids.

Misfits and the downtrodden.

We were too broken for this world and too crazy together.

That’s what happens to unrecognized lovers.

Black as night, our pain becomes our number.

Yours was called and I wanted mine sooner.

I don’t want to live in a world without you.

I mourned you once.

Mourned you two times.

I will mourn you everyday for the rest of my life.

Apathy · Chronic Illness · Creative Writing · Death · Depression · Free Write · Pondering · Prose · Suicide · Writing

We Are Waiting on Death

Often times, I do not feel anything at all, but when I do it’s raw and real and full of passion. I have been berated many times in my life for my intensity and sensitivity, which is why I am usually turned off.

I have hated this part of me for many years and pushed down so much of who I am. Yes, most have only seen the less extreme version. I have hidden away pieces of me, the parts I am told are too much, too intense, sad or crazy.


The ugly parts.

These experiences that made me real are the things the world is afraid to share, yet is the the thing we yearn to see, and when done can set one free.


We crave this vulnerability and yet run from it.

Afraid to show anyone we care, we hide from our truths, because caring means love, and love is eventual pain or abandonment.


It’s 3 a.m. and looking in the mirrior wondering why I couldn’t be his and why my stomach isn’t smaller, my legs not slender or my heart less fragile?

Why I was given this broken back with uneven shoulders? Why her arms could bring the comfort I no longer could but sought to give every moment?


The pain of inevitable loss is so immense that we can not even bare to look rejection in the eyes. So we don’t. We do not try.

We live only half in love and waiting for something that will fill us. Someone better, someone more than anything we could imagine.  Something to make us feel alive again…


But the truth is we are all terribly broken and we are all dying. Some of us at a  faster rate, but the end result is the same. We’re all looking for something to slow down death or speed it up. Or perhaps a distraction great enough to make us momentarily forget our human frailty.


I am, in fact tired of hating myself, tired of feeling like dying and done with trying to fight it off. I am genuinely trying to love who I am. But I have a lifetime of suppression of pain to work through. I look at myself and see crumbles of a person and I do not know if I can ever become more, except a greater mass of such.


Perhaps there is a chance out there. The piece of the puzzle I will eventually stumble upon. The moments to distract me from my own mortality. I wait for these times on bated breath and with a broken heart.