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So Worn Out



I told myself to stay quiet. Shh. Don't. Just don't. But as he held me this morning, as he always does before leaving for work, the tears streamed down my face. And I couldn't hold back my pain. And he held me. Comforted me. He was late leaving. He said it was okay. 

And I am frustrated. I just want to be able to hold it inside. To function. To be fine. To hide it all. Yet I feel like there's danger. Like there's some huge catastrophe on the horizon. And everyone else can't feel it. 

I hate you, PTSD. Go away. 

Every morning he holds me. Often,  waking me. But he just can't go a morning without gently holding me in his arms and kissing me before he leaves. He loves me. He's my safe place and oddly... I think I'm his. That's weird. When I am so uncomfortable with myself. He tells me I bring joy to people's lives. Joy? Not a word I've ever associated with myself.  I've known him for 18 years now. He's never hurt me. And I feel so very undeserving of his love. 

I must get out of my head this morning. Get coffee. Be there for my kids. They'll want breakfast. I need to get the dishes done and school. Ugh. Month and a half left of cyberschool. Then it's over. I can't do it anymore. What will I do with my life? I don't know. 

I am loved and needed, even when I feel worthless and unworthy. I'm not sure if that makes things easier or harder. 



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