Grief hurts. It twists like a knife in your stomach. It’s always there, but sometimes when you least expect it it grabs you and leaves you gasping for air. Living with grief is like living with a black rain cloud above your head, never quite knowing when it is about to start storming.
The part in all of this that I’m struggling the most with at the moment is feeling like I am the punching bag. I know the old saying ‘when you’re down you hurt the ones you love the most’ and I keep trying to tell myself that that’s the case, but I can’t help but feel hurt from it all. I’m tired of my sister’s jibes and cruel accusations. I’m stung every time my mum snaps at me. I have to bite back tears whenever they hug each other but don’t hug me.
I know it’s because I’m the one that is being ‘strong’. I’m the one who is holding it together and having family stay with me so my mum has less to cope with. I’m the one who everyone talks to and offloads to. I’m the one who is back at work and who is chugging on, but the only reason I am doing all of that is because I’m worried that the minute I stop is the minute I fall apart. I might seem fine, but on the inside I’m not and these barbed comments are not helping. I feel on the verge of snapping and I’m worried about what I’ll say or who I’ll hurt if I do.
Grief – you have taken so much from my family already, please don’t take anymore.