I’m okay. Sometimes I fall over and sometimes I roll down hills and sometimes someone needs to hold my hair back when I feel sick. Sometimes no one’s there and I curl up in the fetal position wishing I was surrounded by a comforting blanket of amniotic fluids, but there is nothing except for a cold room surrounded by buzzing sallow light. I’m okay even when I think about memories shrouded in mean black clouds shedding rain from their bellies like fat. I’m okay when I think about the many ways a loved one can hurt the one who loves, and think about how painful love is when danger and vulnerability lurk like a forked tongue of a reptilian beast. I’m okay when I think about the disempowering, the cowering in the corner, when I think about any opportunity to feel better, no matter how small, and the way I would slink and lurk and be slain again and again, only to come back for more. I burn. The hatred burns deeply, there is still burnt scar tissue sitting inside, festering sores, charred flesh that makes me feel hideous. I look in the mirror and that’s what I see: scars. Big, ugly, maiming scars. I look down at my hands and see them, and I left a trail of blood as I walked away from a city I loved once. I’m okay when I think about the most vindictive things anyone has ever done to me, things that curdle anything inside me that makes me strong, things I’ve never deserved, never will deserve, never asked for, and was shocked to receive. I’m okay when walk around in the rain and the rain is so heavy it soaks through my jacket and my shirt and my skin and it weighs heavy on me and reminds me of what it feels like to be burdened like I was for two long years over someone I once cared about. I’m okay. I don’t know why or how I’m okay, but I am okay.


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