But I do it. I censor myself. A lot. Because I love those kids. And one day they’ll turn 18 and then we can talk about whatever the fuck we want.
Yes, I take medication. Yes, it helps. No, it doesn't "cure" me. Depression still just shows up sometimes, puts its boot on my neck and I have to just keep going, like I'm not flat on my back, choking.
Traffic slowed and I learned why when I saw a massive buck splayed on the tarmac.
I think what hurt more than the abuse is that no one seemed to take me seriously and help me.
Christmas is officially next week, but it feels like I've been thinking about it for lightyears. I feel odd, like I'm missing something or I'm not doing enough. Putting up decorations did help a bit, but honestly, I am just ready for the peace and quiet of early January.