I'll warn you in advance that this post probably isn't going to be funny.
I'm sitting in the dark with my computer, and I can feel the walls closing in on me.
This happens sometimes, and I've learned just to let it. I pull it together and do whatever I need to do almost all the time. I stay balanced and focused and calm. I don't freak out. I don't yell or scream even when I want to. I bite my tongue and sit on my hands when what I really want to do is capslock a throwdown with someone online who clearly doesn't understand.
But I don't.
I don't because there are so many things about me and why I am the way I am now that I won't write about. I choose not to as much for the protection of others as for the avoidance of the judgment of others. I know what enough people think that I hold back now. I don't reveal much. I don't want pity, I don't want people to tell me I'm crazy, I don't want people to make the sad eyes at me when they realize what I've actually been through. I don't. So I don't tell anyone.
People assume often that I miss my father, and that is why I struggle.
I miss him, sure.
I can tell you it's not a good sign when the death of a parent is one of the least traumatic things you've been though recently.
I just want it to go away sometimes. And sometimes it slinks off into the background enough that I am free of it for a while. Until it's back.
Here it is, again.
Things were good. Really good. I have hope that I can get back there, but I need to shut myself off from the world for a little bit to do it.
I don't expect people to understand, particularly when I don't tell them what is going on.
I just can't always do it. I can't always be funny and witty and sarcastic. I can't always will it away. I can't. PTSD is a real asshole that way.
Sometimes I'm just a girl who wishes things were different.
Sometimes I'm just sad.
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