Wounded has always looked like this. Raw, rage, revenge, sadness, solemn, this is how messy it is in the beginning. You wish for death, because surely the grief should kill you, but it doesn’t and death tells you it is too good for you. This part of healing is nothing but mess. You are standing in a pool of your own emotions, trying to figure which one is which and nothing makes sense.
The good news is, this is the worst part and it only gets easier from here. The bad news is, this is the worst part and your recovery is deeply unclear.
It’s okay. This is how the wounds will turn to memories. Hours of crying on the floor, days of breaking down, months of falling apart in grocery aisles, at work, in school, it may not feel like it, but this is you recovering. And even when you are damaged, and feel unlovable, take heart in this. Your whole body still loves you enough to give you a home and not give up on you, and that in itself is evidence that you are still loveable. You always will be.
Do not harden yourself to this. It is supposed to be like this. It is supposed to hurt. The wound will scab over. Why else do you think they call it recovery, if not for the skin to grow back over your wound, to re-cover it.
There will be scars. And you may hate them. But look at them often. Treasure them, because those scars are evidence that you are capable of withstanding tsunamis.