Strange days. Strange dreams. I've been
holding my questions and frustrations tight to my belly like a load
of laundry, be it dirty of freshly clean; sometimes it feels like a
mixture of both. A few people have been witness to my juggling act
and those same people have been incredibly generous in their support.
Another few, equally small in number, hear about it because I've told
them. Only one has heard me cry over the phone. I hate crying on the
phone but that one person makes it okay. That person just let's the
space be.
This won't be a long update. Today I
struggle to find an appropriate balance between dealing with
survival, processing, breathing and expressing all this openly and my
chest clenches. Suffice to say that I'm alright, and I still remember
how privileged I am to rely on the support of others at this time. I
won't sugar coat this or philosophize with sweeping sentences; right
now breathing is enough. Enjoying the company of others is enough.
Writing chapters to a story is enough. Measured steps towards
settling is enough. Not really being okay is enough, for now.
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