HOLY SH*T, THEY'RE GONE: Navigating the F*cking Aftermath of Loss Without the Bullsh*tHOLY SH*T, THEY’RE GONE NAVIGATING THE F*CKING AFTERMATH OF LOSS WITHOUT THE BULLSH*T A BRASS KNUCKLES SURVIVAL GUIDE FOR THE BRUTALLY SHATTERED – – – – – – THE BOOK GRIEF DOESN'T WANT YOU TO READ – – – – – – So, they’re gone. And now, everything is fucked.. Your entire fucking world just got obliterated. One second, they were here—your person, your anchor, your goddamn reason for breathing—and now, they’re just fucking gone. Reduced to memories, ashes, a gaping, screaming HOLE in the fabric of your goddamn existence. The world SHATTERS, doesn't it? One minute they’re breathing, laughing, *living*, and the next… NOTHING. Just a void that swallows everything whole, leaving you choking on the dust of what used to be. Everything you knew is a smoldering crater, a wasteland of what-ifs and never-agains. And the infuriating, soul-crushing reality? The goddamn sun STILL rises. Traffic STILL crawls. People STILL bitch about their lattes. The fucking AUDACITY of the world to keep turning when yours has stopped DEAD. Meanwhile, you’re drowning in this soul-crushing, brain-melting, rage-inducing hellscape called grief. People start talking, and 95% of what they say is the most tone-deaf, ignorant, rage-inducing, and straight-up offensive bullshit you'll ever hear in your life. - “Oh, they’re in a better place.” Better place, my ass. Their place was right the fuck here, with you. - “Everything happens for a reason.” Say that again, and you might catch hands.