I wrote this post a few nights ago and I debated sharing it. Not because it is overly personal but because it is honest and it acknowledges the pain I’m pretending not to feel. I pretend not only for myself but for others. I don’t want everyone to worry about me. Or to think I am a constantly quivering pile of mush that cannot go on with life. I am alive. I am living. But I also need to be honest and admit that while I still experience joy I’m also sad as hell.  

I have spent the past few months trying to occupy my body and mind in an effort to convince myself that I’m fine. I’ve focused my negative energy into changing my diet and instead of eating my grief I’m sweating it out through exercise. I’ve lost over 20 pounds and my ab muscles are reappearing but it only serves to distract me and everyone around me from my grief, not cure it. I figure if I look great on the outside people will be convinced I’m great on the inside. I’ve stayed busy at work and have taken on new projects and career goals that have given my mind something else to focus on but still it wanders. I am showing up to my life with a good attitude and a smile on my face trying to convince myself and everyone around me that I’m fine but I don’t think it is working anymore. My body is starting to revolt. Last week at work I was by myself in an office and out of nowhere my eye started watering. It wasn’t irritated, there wasn’t something in it, but it just started pouring out tears. My body was begging me to let go and face my grief but I refused. I let the tears stream out then quickly wiped them away and continued on with my day. That same night we watched the Angry Birds movie with Logan and there was a bird couple that thought their egg had been smashed. I’ve always secretly been someone who gets choked up from the most stupid movies but this time was different. This time I cried. Like really cried. Tears streamed down my face as I watched two cartoon birds embrace while I remembered the pain of my own “egg” being smashed. I buried my face in Logan’s hair and pretended it wasn’t happening, but the truth is, it did. I cry because I am sad. I am sad and I am angry. Which makes me sad, and that only serves to make me more angry. And around and around I go like a dog chasing it’s tail.

Some days it feels like I’m running from my own shadow trying to escape my grief. This darkness follows me everywhere I go and I can’t seem to shake it. I keep my mind and body occupied but I simply cannot run forever. Eventually, I have to catch my breath and that’s when I realize this shadow is still with me.  As soon as I stop and close my eyes to sleep the darkness comes crashing in. Despite all my efforts to outrun it, the grief pours into my heart and the sadness starts pumping through my veins. And suddenly I’m right back where I was six months ago, shocked and devastated in utter disbelief. And then I cry.

My tears usually escape through a small crack in my armor that only lasts for a minute before my anger comes bubbling up to seal it shut again. The salty tears burn my cheeks and I let them sit there, slowly drying while the rage builds to a boil beneath them. And the same thoughts run circles through my head. My daughter died. She fucking died. Seriously. This can’t be real. This has to be some sick fucking joke or a horrible nightmare that will someday end. But it isn’t a joke. It isn’t a nightmare. This is real. That mound of flesh I keep scratching with no relief, that’s my incision, the scar that will forever remind me where she used to be. And this empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, that’s her, that’s my daughter, that’s Ava. And I want to kick and scream and cry. I am mad.

I am mad that not only did my daughter die, but a piece of me died with her. Losing her was bad enough but every day I feel the void where my innocence once lived. The naive, blind faith that everything in life had a way of working out. That stupid, carefree, sunshine and rainbows part of me that trusted in a higher power to take care of us is dead. I miss that part of me. I miss that faith. I miss the comfort that came with believing. I wish that part of me was coming back but I fear it is gone for good. In its place is the dark, angry monster that lurks in the shadows of my being. I’m getting pretty good at hiding that part of me. I fake smiles, lend a sympathetic ear to petty problems, and even feign excitement for another person’s pregnancy or new baby, but on the inside I’m cringing as the monster nips at my heels begging to come out. I try to keep the rage in but sometimes in a moment of weakness I let my guard down and it escapes. I don’t think Travis is a fan of this new part of me, especially since its usually running right for his throat, but he’s getting pretty good at taming it, coercing it back into its cage.

I want to let my anger out and stop pretending it isn’t there but I can’t. I’m afraid if I let it out it will grow and take over the other good parts of me that are still left. I’m afraid if I let it out I won’t be able to control it and my friends won’t want to be around it, so my anger and I will be banished to a desert island where we can scream and destroy ourselves alone. So like the boogeyman in my closet, I continue to try to ignore it and deny that it exists. I stay busy. I make small talk. I pretending I’m not thinking about my daughter all the fucking time. I pretend I’m not bitter and angry. And each night when I finally stop and close my eyes to go to sleep the sadness comes back and I shed a few more tears that sit searing into my cheeks, fueling the raging monster that is consuming my soul.

I’ll tell you I’m fine but I’m also sad. And angry. And…fine, I’m not fine. Goal this week: get back to therapy.