Morose Monday

Days Alive: 12,211

Day of Hanukkah: 2nd

Streak on Duolingo: 13 days

I’m not okay today. And that’s okay. I know there will be bad days as much as I know that there will be good days.

For the new adventure last week, I had to watch a very graphic, detailed sexual harassment and rape policy training video. My hands were shaking on the way home. Even after that, after spending a restful, pleasant weekend, there’s an echo of bile and clench of my heart every time I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I’m still having nightmares. Of knees kneeling on my shoulders, of a clenched hand around my throat, of behind held down and being, feeling so, so small.
Nighttime is just a collection of endless flashbacks and shadows of yesterday haunting my waking hours.
I’m not even suicidal today. Not even passively. The radio was quiet. I’ve been numb, emotionally, the whole damn weekend.
I woke up tired to the bone but looking forward to the day. Sleep doesn’t come easily to me most days. That’s just life.

The video I watched today was talking about having hope, waiting just a day or week before taking action. I do like that they called it “died by suicide” rather than committed suicide. It talked about how other people can make a difference in the lives of others.

It brings to mind my battles with the blaring mental radio that tells me life would be better without me here. It brings to mind the people I’ve lost to suicide; the friends, the family, the many people I’ve lost to their own struggles. It is hard.
So. Very. Hard.

I feel haunted. Almost like an old house that’s seen too much. One who’s dilapidated walls holds testament to the battles waged within its walls.

I’m tired.

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