I'm not gonna say much on this blog post. Too angry to.
My Dad died two weeks ago.
A few people this past week have said, 'She (my mother) lost her soulmate/best buddy'.
I said, 'I lost my Dad.'
'That's not the same,' I was told.
Over and over, told my grief doesn't matter as much. Or than I'm grieving the 'wrong' way as I don't feel safe showing intense emotions in front of others (PTSD).
I am not going to detail the shitstorm that continued to get worse these past few weeks.
I deleted the semianonymous tribute YouTube channel after two family members who consented to it had a tantrum over it. It was snippets of my Dad with his children and grandchildren from years ago. Some family and friends said they'd enjoyed it.
Heck, I'm not even allowed to grieve the way I want to.
I'm sick of others trying to control me, a fifty-year-old women. And trying to control how I grieve as well as dismissing that I am grieving too. Well, yes, I'm angry. Mostly at the entitled selfishness.
I can't even say publicly what's really going on, effectively muzzled by those who throw their power around. Gaslighting bullies.
I have very restricted options, with my disabilities. I long to be free.
Posting the last pic taken of me and my Dad. Anyone who objects can farkoff.
That is all.
Disclaimer: the author of this blog is not an expert by profession and her opinions should not be taken as expert advice.