Two steps forward. One step back. Slam the door on the weeping skeleton.
My last post was horrible to write. I still cringe when I attempt to read it. I have wanted to delete it but I know that wouldn't do much good. It still happened. It still hurts. I am still deeply ashamed.
Shame is a funny thing. Sometimes I can push it to a corner of my mind. Other times I cannot even wrap my mind around it to find a place for it to rest.
Sometimes I wonder if processing and grappling with every memory is meant to be. What would be the harm of burying the horror if a larger amount has been handled?
Everyone has skeletons. So what if mine are a little more fucked than usual.
Hanging On No More
19 hours ago