I’m unraveling again. Slowly but incessantly. Sleep deprivation and hormones are tugging at the frayed ropes that hold me together. I’m scared and I can’t control it. The heaviness in my chest won’t subside and I feel it crushing my heart one breath at a time. The hand of grief is around my throat and refuses to let me breathe. I’m suffocating and as I gasp for air I am thankful for another breath.
These moments are overwhelming and all I can do is fight. Fight to breathe. Fight to cry. Fight to hold on to the memories. Fight my fears.
I rip the hand from my throat and stand my ground. I take back this moment and open my eyes as one last tear rolls down my cheek.
I feel weak. But sometimes our weak moments take over only when we are strong enough to handle them.