I’m still here. I’m still turtling, protecting myself. I’m stil okay. I’m still seeing A (saw her today and now she’s gone again for 2 weeks).
I still feel incredibly worn out. I’m still grieving. Attachment pain is still the worst pain. And I’m still wondering how much longer I can do therapy like this.
But I also know how far I’ve come and where I get to go and that I’ve been in spots I never thought I would make it through before, and I did.
So one day at a time, one step at a time, one hard cry at a time.
So I’m still here, I’m still (relatively speaking) okay. I still don’t feel like writing. But I’m around.