Therapeutic writing comes in run-on sentences.

Why one would choose to share it is another story altogether.

… when you find yourself weeping and playing Poe’s That Day at full volume while making a spreadsheet at 11:43 am on a day that you KNOW you should always honor and self-protect, but didn’t yet again because your life is still an insane balancing act and you are really fucking trying to crawl out into the sunshine … and you know your friends are out there and you don’t understand why you can’t reach out to them, or always answer when they reach out to you because the answer is yes, that grief is still so overwhelming that when you let yourself feel it you still fear it might destroy you, but that the only way you know to move forward is to give it certain times and spaces and whythefuck did you think you could avoid that  … again?

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