The Wall

There’s a specific humiliation in needing help from family after losing the person who made you feel like the two of you could tell the world to fuck off and build your own thing. That independence was part of our identity. Us against the world, not because we hated everyone, but because we had each other. We could absorb more, tolerate more, choose more, because the core was solid. Now I depend on people in ways I never wanted to. And dependency comes with opinions. Access. Critique. Interference. Emotional tax. I am grateful and resentful, which is apparently one of the signature flavors of grief.