Yes, for a very long time now, on and off. I was very young when it first started after my father was killed. The loss so great to me, I called it my hole. A space inside me left behind that was his place. Over the years I fell into that hole, so easy to step into, but so hard to crawl out of. Filled with hurt, anger, loss and shame. The shame came from still hurting but those around me assuming that I would forget, get on with my life, get better. I didn't so I learnt to hide it. Which became a source of great anxiety. Forty-five years later, I have lost all the family members older than me. I have learnt more about my strengths and weaknesses. I accept my grief, allow myself to cry, and try my best to live a good, healthy life. I still have my hole, I guess I always will. But instead of filling it with anger and shame, I fill it with my cherished memories. I honour those memories by doing little things they did that made me happy. That way, they live within me. That's my story, sorry it's so long.