I BURIED MY MOM AND SLOW PACED EDITING

I may sound callous, with sensitivities thrown out the window. Well, I am. All emotions drained after nearly a year of fear, restrained anger, deep love, regrets, and death knocking on our door—until it finally entered our home and took my mom. Don't blame me. After all, we've stripped ourselves of humanness and become numb. Are we meant to recover from this? Is this just another social disease that demands a cure?

FUCK NO! IT IS WHAT IT IS. Death exists as real as you and me, and we must deal with it.  This all-encompassing suffering, if this is a phase, I accept it. But right now, I don't care about anybody or anything at all. I just want to be left alone with my editing.

   The loss of someone to whom you owe a debt that can never be repaid, imagine being left with that.