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More days than not, I don my mask; the one that assures the world I am okay. But it’s a lie. There will never be a day when I am not breaking inside, even to a smaller degree than in years past.

The outside world rarely catches a glimpse of this pain; my deep sorrow, my intense anger.

I made a conscious decision to choose life and I must live it the best that I can, but that does not mean I am “better” or happy. And, honestly, some days it is difficult if not impossible to even feel alive, let alone motivated.

When friends or strangers ask how I am doing, it instantly creates an inner struggle — do I feign my best smile and say fine or okay? Or do I answer honestly? And how exactly do I do that without sounding crazy or melodramatic?

Usually I speak in vague terms such as “I’m breathing” or “I’m alive”. Which is not a lie but does not reveal the whole truth. I cannot lay bare my soul with every small social interaction.

Most people see nor know nothing of the crushing weight I feel on a regular basis. The memories that catch me off guard, sending me headlong over a cliff into despair, unable to stop the downward momentum, the anguish and the longing.

There are days when the thought of turning off to the world is overwhelmingly tempting. No job, no social life, no expectations from others. A world of my own in which I would spend hours in her room, remembering, crying, screaming. No chores, no responsibilities, no bills to be paid. Only grieving and breathing.

Yet I will stumble on, telling these essential untruths, in an effort to maintain some sense of who I used to be and to hold close those raw emotions and vehement thoughts that are mine and mine alone. My joy to call upon through memory for strength. My sorrow to embrace. My tears to shed. My broken heart to heal as best I can.

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One Comment

  1. i can connect with this


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