I am not fine.

To the people I love trying to make it better:

Just for 5 minutes stop telling me it gets better with time.  Please stop trying to pull me out of my grief and sit with me in it, instead.  Lay with me just long enough for me to feel less alone, even if all you can handle is one moment.

Don’t tell me it gets easier. Stop saying, “she’s watching over you” or “she’s in a better place.”  In my grief, I cannot find “a better place” on a map.  It returns zero results on google.

Don’t proclaim how proud she is of me as if I have ever been unsure.

Say, “I am sorry.”

Say, “I don’t know what to say.”

Say nothing.

Grab me and hold me tight enough so that for a split second I don’t have to be the only one holding together a million shattered pieces of the whole I used to be.

Know that when you ask me how I am, I will lie.

I am not fine.

It is not okay.

I am nowhere near good.

Know that’s okay.

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