to the ghosts that won't rest
I stumbled upon some older journal entries the other day. They were from notebook I had kept when going through trauma discovery with a specialized therapist for the first time... I skimmed a few pages before fully realizing what it was, and nearly immediately shut it after that. I still don't feel quite right, afterwards. There wasn't even much to glean from what I read, but I don't feel okay regardless.
That's probably because of where else my head has been, though. It's been taking up most of my thoughts lately, even though there's so much else I'd rather be thinking about. I'm just not there. I feel gone.
I already knew these ghosts were inside of me. But it's like all these versions of myself keep going over what happened in ways that I can't... do anything with, anymore. I feel like I'm haunted for little to no reason.
I'm sorry. That's all I can say to them at this point. I'm sorry it happened. I'm sorry I forgot. I'm sorry you were alone with it for so long. But I don't know what to do anymore.
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