Dear Butthead,
I love you and miss you so fucking much!
But MY GOD and I tired of grieving.
I am SO FUCKING tired of being sad, or angry, or tired.
GOD I am tired.
All the time.
Physically tired.
Mentally tired.
Emotionally tired.
All of it.
Grief is a gentle giant; a monster that is chained to my leg and I don’t have the key to the lock.
I don’t strain against the weight of him anymore.
I had been running full speed ahead when you died.
Then the manacle locked around my ankle and my face smashed into the pavement.
I kept trying to move forward, to drag its weight along with me, refusing to slow down.
The weight was too much for me.
So, I began trying to pry the shackles off.
To loose the monster that was dragging me backwards, so it seemed. I used every tool within my reach to get this THING off of me. I was NOT going to be latched to this….this CREATURE just because YOU decided to jump ship.
