I don’t ever complain about having to distract myself because as soon as I’m alone i can’t do anything but let my soul gut itself out of me and have it screech and tear apart everything i deny

Its hard to calm myself down most of the day. I don’t say a word about how I cry at nights wishing my memories would evaporate. I don’t describe how some words hurt like putting my hands in acid. How when a man raises his hand for a mere high five I quiver hoping he won’t hit me. How everything is okay and everything is fine and it is fine, i promise. It’s fine.

I can’t go home without finding reasons why i shouldn’t. I say I’d like to leave the house because of family. But really, they’re great. Its the facts that I always place myself in that office; panicking over what I’d done and I what I’ve kept doing. Or due to the realisation that no matter how short a while I stay home, the ringing cries of my own throat carries this whole hallway. But its okay, its fine. I promise it fine.


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