Thanks, grief. Thanks for making depression look like the buzzing little bully it always was. Depression is the tallest kid in the 4th grade, dinging rubber bands off the back of your head and feeling safe on the playground, knowing that no teacher is coming to help you. But grief? Grief is Jason Statham holding that 4th-grade bully's head in a toilet and then fucking the teacher you've got a crush on in front of the class . Grief makes depression cower behind you and apologize for being such a dick. If you spend 442 days completely focused on ONE thing you can achieve miracles. Make a film, write a novel, learn a language, travel around the world. Fall in love with someone. Get 'em to love you back. But 442 days at the mercy of grief and loss feels like 442 years and you have shit to show for it. You will not be physically healthier. You will not feel "wiser." You will not have "closure." You will not have "perspective" or "res
I don't believe in magic, I rely on it ✨