This is a letter to my future self that I hope I never have to read — because it’s for if and when I find myself back in an unbearable place.
Being in this place involves unwashed pajamas, pain that makes me dry heave in the trash can, feeling frozen, and hoping that if I just don’t move, it will get better.
It has me praying that I won’t feel the fire or the stabbing icepicks or the lightning sensations in my body. With every piercing pain comes disappointment.
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