One Week

Ever since you left, I have been angry. Not angry at you, angry at life. I spent a week waiting for that call from my mom that you passed. That single phone call that would tip me over the edge and make my blood go cold.
After that call, I knew the dark times were coming for me. I was not going to function or be okay. Now when I try to speak, I mess up what I was going to say. I know I need to eat, but I am unable to feel hunger. I'm feeling sick to my stomach and my head is throbbing. I so badly want to cry, but find myself unable to produce tears. I have cried all week, one breakdown after another. One week, one week for that call from mother. Everything hurts, it feels unbearable being in this spot. Nothing feels the same since you're no longer here. I feel so hurt and broken, but it's not your fault. You told me you were ready to put your life to a hault, but I was not ready for the turmoil I would be in. Everyone keeps calling me strong, but that is just the illusion I put up because I want to look, act, and feel strong. Inside is a whole different story, inside everything feels so wrong and I am so drained.