About two months ago, my therapist handed me a journal called, How to Carry What Can’t Be Fixed, by Megan Devine. This journal has been one that I keep going back to for reassurance that drowning from pain is a natural reaction to losing two people I can’t live without.
I recently found Megan’s writing class, Writing Your Grief.
It’s an online course with a group of other grievers, sharing their love and heartbreaking loss through prompts that are set up for 30 days.

I decided to spend the next 30 days going wherever these prompts take me.
Every day I’m going to share the prompt, written and sent by Megan, along with my answer to the prompt.
Here goes;

*Day one.
I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what to do.
Loss rearranges your sense of self. You are no longer the person you were. That person is gone.
It’s like someone came in while you were asleep and rearranged everything inside. All familiar things are lost, though the outsides remain the same. You are not what you once were.
And while life is always a series of personal reinventions, this time – this time feels different.

Today’s prompt:
Who was the person you used to be?*

I used to be hopeful.
I used to be busy. feel busy. 
I moved at a faster pace. 
I did a lot of things.
I created.
I felt productive. 
I listened to music.
I listened to podcasts.
I laughed. I laughed so much with ma and ta. The laughter, the sound of it, the way it made my stomach hurt, my eyes watering from the laughter, watching ma laugh with me, watching ta laugh with restraint. The laughter. I used to be someone who laughed until they cried. 
I used to be someone who looked forward.
I anticipated things in the future. 
I felt hopeful. 
I planned ahead.
I put things into my google calendar.
.I made funny stories on Instagram. 
I tracked my sleep on whoop.
I cared about all things, big or small.
I used to feel cared for.
I used to feel safe.
I used to be someone who felt alive.