553 Days Later.

by Gleb Goloubetski

in a show i’m currently watching, a girl suffers the grief of her sister. it’s like her whole world is crashing down and all air has turned to poison. every single breath comes with a burning tear running down her face. she’s just buried half of herself under the ground and now she’s meant to carry on living an emotionally, mentally, physically impaired life. all alone. a voice in my head said, “it gets better.”

it scared me a little. i’ve been thinking about all the less-painful things that happened as a result of your passing. i’m trying to look at it under a brighter light; the darkness of pain never comes without little beams of light. and it scares me that i’ve found some things that i feel grateful for; things that couldn’t have happened without this experience.

first, the timing. it happened in the morning of a Sunday. a Sunday where i was intended to go to school. but i didn’t. we didn’t. ’cause it happened before we left. what if it happened when we were at school? what if we got home and you were gone? getting news so shocking, so devastating, so fucking paralyzingly painful… that would have been so much worse. just so ruthlessly, terribly excruciating. i’m immeasurably grateful to God it happened the way it did..

second, if that pain hadn’t come upon me, God only knows where i would be right now with that crippling depression and mental captivity i was in before you left. you saved me. the grief saved me. and i could never comprehend how such a freeing thing could come from such a sudden, heavy and poignant grief that i’ve never in my whole life even thought existed.

third, you made me a writer. a true writer. a writer who found herself through the words she wrote. a writer whose words are laced with pure emotion, unapologetic thought disclosure, a brutal expression of anger and guilt. a writer whose pain could only alleviate through the streams of inspiration that flow through her body every single day and night. a person with the most beautifully freeing ability to find acceptance, love and surrender through the words she wholeheartedly expressed. you connected me to my soul in the most painful, yet beautiful way possible. you made me a creator. a forgiver. your grief turned me into an artist. melancholy splashed, engulfed, and immersed every single edge of my pieces, but it was okay, for you were alive when i was writing them. you were breathing in me and i was finally able to breathe again.


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