It seems that in the absence of concrete memories, my imagination has deemed it necessary to create all kinds of sick and twisted scenarios to torment me with. Mostly at night. I'm tired of having to comfort myself by reminding myself that these things didn't happen just so I can try to sleep.
It's getting OLD.
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wife. mom. swimmer. writer.
trying to live life in spite of depression, dissociation, and PTSD.
member of a club that no one wants to join...