I am grieving.
I do not have a sickness that can be caught.
I don’t have a bad attitude.
I have not lost perspective.
I am not eternally ungrateful for all things, just because I am missing and grieving one thing.
I am not spiritually weak.
I did nothing to deserve this, so please don’t judge.
A pill will not fix me. Some time off will not fix me. You cannot fix me.
I’ll learn, I’ll keep breathing, I’ll move forward.
But there is a part of me that will always be broken.
A part that will always be missing.
I am not lost, though I feel it sometimes.
I am not just depressed, though it may turn into that.
I am not alone, and yet I’ve never felt so lonely.
I am nothing that I once was.
I’ve been put through the fire, and I’ll come out of this a different person.
You may wish for the old me back. I wish for her too. But she is gone. Buried. Alive only in memory.
I hope, oh I hope, that somehow, in some way, I’ll get through this and be better for it.
I hope to find meaning and purpose in my loss.
I hope to find strength again.
But I am the only one who can discover peace, hope and joy again. 
In my own time.
In my own way.
You may plead with me, beg to me, “Look! It’s right here! Just be happy again!”
But your efforts will only be in vain.
Happiness will never come from outside of me again.
It must . . . it can only . . . be unearthed from the brokenness within.
At times I will have it all together on the outside. At times, I will fall apart.
I’m on an eternal merry-go-round.
I am never through the sadness. Anger. Denial. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
Each stage is just a tease. I conquer it. I get through it. Then . . .
It is back again.
One day, I hope I can get off the incessant changes of grief.
Until that day, love me for who I am. Accept me right where I’m at.
Know that I’m still me. Even if . . .
I am grieving.

Dedicated in love to all of those who are grieving right now. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

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