Today I am scared.
I think sometimes it's better when you don't have time to brace yourself for things, when I can talk about painful things the way I always do; lightly- like I haven't spent hours feeling like I'm choking on my own vomit. casually- like I haven't tried to scratch inside my own skin to be clean. Carelessly- like there isn't still something stuck at the base of my throat, like there aren't days that I can still hear him.
I don't know why some days are so much worse than others. I don't know why I find myself crying at all the wrong times, and when I'd much rather not. I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm almost over it.
I guess I've just spent the last few weeks taken aback by how talking about it, even only briefly, in a particularly setting, makes my heart start pounding and my hands shake. Perhaps at the knowing that we'd eventually get here. That after months of sitting on this soft couch, there are deeper buried things that need to be dug up so someone can fix me. Or at least try to.
I shouldn't have chosen today.
I need to be a better actor.
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