The Stages of Grief

I have sat with anger ingrained in my ribs night after night. I know the five stages of grief. Why am I so stuck on anger?

Denial was the first one. It hit when I stood in front of my fridge all alone in my house with my knees wobbling, staring at the screen on my phone, hands shaking as I called my best friend. She asked me what was wrong. I choked back a sob as I told her. My knees gave out beneath me, and I was on the floor as my best friend tried to comfort me, but all I could do was say, “This can’t be happening.” My best friend could only cry with me on the other end of the phone; she couldn’t comfort me when my worst fear had become reality. It hit when I frantically texted plea after plea with shaking fingers causing me to mistype. When I couldn’t type anything but “Why?”

Bargaining was second for me. I kept looking for ways I could have changed the outcome. I wanted to justify my actions, but I kept wishing I could have changed things. I begged her to talk to me, to explain the hurtful things she said. I begged her to love me as much as I loved her. Please, please, please. I’ve never been one to beg, but I would have lowered myself into hell for her to tell me why she said all those cruel things. If I had only kept my mouth shut. If I had never mentioned it again, could we have gone back to normal?

Depression hit after that. I cried into an iced peppermint mocha in the passenger seat of my sister’s car. I was—and still am—shattered. I choke on my tears, hiccup for air, my body rocks with my sobs, my face turns red, and my nose runs. I let out screams of agony when left home alone. I scream along to “All Too Well (10 Minute Version)” by Taylor Swift. I relate more than I should. I cry myself to sleep with Taylor Swift’s “Haunted” playing in the background. There is a mask on my face that hides the pain, ripping me to shreds. I see her in everything. I look for her name to pop up on my phone, but it never will again. She decided to cut me out. The depression hit again when she erased my existence from her world. I had given everything to her. We were supposed to be infinite.

Acceptance still hasn’t come. How am I supposed to accept something when I can’t even begin to understand it? I don’t want to accept that she left me when she promised me she would always be by my side. How can I possibly accept how pathetic loving her has made me?

All I’m left with is anger. I am full of it. Every little thing has begun to irritate me. I lash out at the smallest thing, and I have become unsympathetic. I’m always angry. My face becomes sore from how much I clench my jaw. I violently shatter CD after CD and light religious books on fire. I am being consumed. Anger was supposed to be the second stage of grief, so why am I stuck on it? I denied, I bargained, I cried. Why am I so angry? In her absence, all I am left with is hate. I want to scream all the time. I want everyone to leave me alone, yet I want someone to tell me that it’s ok to be angry. I want to be ok with being angry that she followed me on Instagram and then 20 minutes later blocked me on everything, but I can’t stomach being angry at her. Instead of being angry at her, I’m angry at everyone else. I don’t know how to be angry with her; she made me who I am.

I’m tired of this. I don’t want to be stuck in this cycle of grief. How am I supposed to grieve for someone who is still alive? She is alive in my memories. Her mom followed me on Instagram and commented on my Facebook posts. I feel like I’m not allowed to move on; I’m stuck in this cycle of grief that leaves me with anger ingrained in my ribs.

Anger sits in the void in my chest she left behind. I am full of it. I am made of it.