bad

I'm bad at writing.
I'm bad at keeping up my blog in this little neck of the woods. So often it gets pushed to the side, and I forget to write. I apologize.
I'm bad at managing this grief. more often than not I simply drag it behind me, like a ball and chain. Sometimes I think I'm doing alright. Other times I just want to crawl in bed and ignore the world.
Like today. Today I want to crawl in bed and pretend the world outside doesn't exist.
I'm bad at being nice to people. I snapped at the lady in the grocery store. I ignored my co-worker until she thought of me as arrogant and bitchy and decided never to speak to me again.
I'm bad at displacing my grief into constructive, creative outlets. On my birthday, when I couldn't stand being without them, I got my nose pierced. Because I wanted it to hurt, like that last morning I had with them.
I'm a bad mother. If I was a good mother, my baby wouldn't have died.
I'm a bad lover. If I had been a good lover, a good girlfriend, my partner wouldn't have died.
I'm a bad baby loss mama, a bad widow. I feel like I should smile more. I should probably smile more, right? And getting out of this room would help. Showering, maybe, changing clothes, washing my hair and brushing my teeth. Maybe it would help if I wasn't so angry, so isolated in my grief.
Maybe it would help if I didn't wear red lipstick and hadn't gotten a hole in my nose. I mean, what kind of person does that?
Sometimes I feel like a bad person. I know I'm not. I know I'm a normal person dealing with life and that never before has this happened and that this experience is all my own and I know all of this. My therapist, Violet, she tells me these things. She listens to me. Sometimes I get mad at her, but she never yells back, or ignores me. She just tells me it was a good session, that I displayed emotion.
She told me not to filter, to just say what I feel. Sometimes that gets me into trouble. I'm still learning how to do that.
The last few months, while I haven't been writing here, I have been writing, a lot. I've been playing guitar again (badly. I only know a few chords). I've been taking long walks and working and sometimes staying in bed and sometimes crying and sometimes ignoring certain people.
I want to write here again. I want to be my old self again but I'm still trying to find it.
I hope to start blogging here more regularly, even if its only once every couple of weeks. I think maybe its good for me, therapeutic.
But I'm not making any promises.
We both know I'm bad at blogging.