Some times, she can accept the memories being part of the past.  Moving on and getting better. 

Other times, these memories are so damn raw she can’t even think about it.  But she does. It’s all she thinks about.

She thinks she’s getting better but then has these slips.  Like an addict having a relapse.  

She is the one experiencing the reoccuring thoughts and dreams and fears, she feels so alone. 

If she was surrounded by people she would still feel alone. But she would want to suffer in silence.

That’s the ugly truth.



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