Thank you so much for writing this. It’s beautifully, wonderfully disastrous and perfect. I’ve been dealing with grief for more than half my life now. Right after we moved out of the country, my older brother died. I was 14 and barely out of childhood, trying to figure out my identity in the midst of the greatest loss I’ve known and in a place I’d never lived. Everything felt selfish and plastic and wrong. Yours is the best description of how it felt that I’ve ever read.
I still feel like Polly, some days more than others, but the Pocket I call my own has grown. It took years for me to push those tiny walls, millimeter by millimeter, crevice by crevice… to create more space for myself, enough space that I could live there with my grief and still squeeze in the things that make me me. It’s no longer so suffocating. You’ll see.
Thanks again, Fiona. ❤