Some days it’s bitter, ugly resentment. Hours upon hours spent searching for an answer I’ll never get, an explanation that doesn’t exist. A vicious game of self-loathing, picking apart every piece of my body, a body I’ve spent years loving and respecting, suddenly hating every useless fucking inch of it. It’s a never-ending cycle of grief, one that starts over every single month, forcing you to shove aside pain you haven’t healed from yet or fall behind. And every day? Every damn day it’s fucking terrifying.
