Sometimes I feel like my grief is a bag that I have to carry around with me.
On good days it's a brief case or a small carry-on bag with wheels that I can drag behind me. It's annoying that I have to lug it everywhere with me, but I can still get around the place easily enough.
On bad days it's like an old battered suitcase that's heavy and exhausting and awkward to carry. It makes me ache from the weight of it and slows me down to a snail's pace.
On really bad days, it's a massive vintage chest that crushes me under its weight. It is so overwhelming that I can't move or breath and it eclipse me altogether.
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