My grief is not something that I share.
I do not turn to my love and say, "share this with me, the weight is so heavy, help me carry it through today, and maybe tomorrow I'll be stronger"
No. I could never.
My grief. It's all mine. If it colors my day, then that shade is only seen through my eyes.
Whether it's weakness, vulnerability, leaning far too much others, or a different force that keeps it as mine, I'm not sure.
Maybe sharing my grief could help. Not only me, but the humans around me who feel their own. But why share mine? Who would it serve. Who would it bring down into the darkness with me? Who would it scare away? Who would it disgust, enrage, annoy, upset?
Maybe it's the pain of being misunderstood, the pain of someone saying the wrong thing - or nothing at all, the pain of uttering the thoughts in my head and letting the dam fall only to have the waves of grief flood out of the tidy, tucked away cavern in which I've kept it.
Grief is an individual burden to carry in my world. Maybe that's something to grieve in and of itself.