Grief is the monster that no one wants to see. It might sneak inside in the dead of night, hiding under my bed, waiting to grab my foot as I crawl under the covers, or it might ambush me as I walk down the street, leaving me gasping for air and lying in a ditch. I pretend it doesn’t exist; I speak of it in hushed whispers, and I act like if it hears its name, it comes snarling, looking for blood. It’s an all too familiar demon that I still deny the existence of, even as my skin is marred with scars and fresh wounds from its jagged claws and piercing teeth.

Grief is the sorrow stronger than the sea. Like the ocean, it feels endless, overpowering, and deeper than I could ever dive. Some days, I can only hear the crash of its waves of sadness echoing in the background. Some days, it smacks me in the face and pulls me under, pummeling me with painful memories again and again. Whether the waves of anguish come in choppy spurts or consistent rolls, it will always be there, bitterly reminding me of all that I’ve lost. I tread the water frantically, but I fear that I’m drowning in this ocean of despair and depression.

Grief is the fire that consumes me from the inside out. I can’t escape from its chains that anchor me to the stake, as flames roll around me, dancing closer and closer to my face. Fury pours out of my mouth like a dragon, and I scream with everything I have left. I will not go down without a fight. This fire of anger and passion is all I have; it’s the one thing standing between death and I. Through the smoke and sparks, I can see the charred remains of my life; my own furious flames of angst have scorched and ruined all my friends, my family, my loved ones. My fire may be faster than death, but it destroys everything in its path, and now I’m left in this burned, broken body.

Grief is the stain on my body that just refuses to be scrubbed off. I scrub and shower and try everything, but the mark stubbornly remains written into my skin. I plead and bargain and beg for mercy, but I am forever tainted. It seeps through my skin, into my bloodstream, taking control of every part of my body. It’s stuck in the front lobe of my brain, pounding in my heart, buried underneath my skin like an ingrown hair that’s too deep for tweezers to reach. It courses through my veins like electricity, too fast for any doctor to catch it and cure it. I still try to tame it; I try medicine and therapy and vitamins and exercise and everything anyone says will fix me. It’s too late; I know it, but I still search for a cure, hoping in vain that something will save me.

Grief, you’re the one I named and befriended. I know that you’ll follow me wherever I go. You’re the way I can’t hold back my tears when I read that last letter. You’re how every time I see that picture, my heart breaks just a little bit more. You’re the swell of the music that uncovers the memories that I didn’t know could hurt so much. Even when I’m old and can’t remember who I am, I know that I will recognize your face. Instead of trying to escape your savage fangs, I’ll embrace you with all my heart. I’ll learn to swim and splash in your waves and float on the surface. I’ll build a fire pit, where I’ll roast marshmallows and be mesmerized by your flickering flames. I’ll leave your mark on my body as a reminder of the journey I’ve been on, turning what you intended for destruction into art. I can look at your face and not be scared by the torment written all over, but instead be grateful for the beauty carved deep inside your bones. I’ll greet you like an old friend, and we’ll walk hand in hand until the day when I can finally say goodbye.