Do I say it runs my life mechanically?
That it tastes like cloves?
That some mornings I don’t get up?
That some mornings I know I should never have gotten up?
Do I recite memories that cycle through my head daily?
Do I describe hypervigilance?
Do I explain the crippling, all-consuming halt my thoughts and actions come to when someone mentions a trigger?
Confess the shame of being alive despite, or the horror of not being in the right universe, or
Maybe I write about the misery of not recognizing my “wrong” baby as my own?
Should I quote the songs from that time that still make me sob?
What about the disorientation?
How do you discuss grief. What IS grief.
I’m broken and to play it back again is to lay here in the bed and give up like I should have when they told me I had to make a choice.