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Mom, I'm not okay.

Updated: Apr 25, 2020

I laid on the basement floor.

Tears and snot were running down my face.

My mom tried to hug me.

I pulled away.

I couldn't hug her because I'd been sick for two weeks.

She reached in and hugged me anyways.

"I'm not okay. I am not handling this well."

I was having an PTSD episode.

I was told I wasn't allowed to hangout with friends until further notice because of the pandemic.

My car was at the mechanic so I had no way to leave the house.

I was sick so I had to keep my distance from my family and stay in my room.

I didn't have an office space and I left my work equipment in Chicago.

I was working from a table in a spare bedroom.

This is almost the exact environment I was in while in a cult for ten months.

I had nothing to lean on for comfort.

Nowhere to walk outside.

I couldn't hug anyone or hold anyone because I was contagious.

I couldn't eat sweets or drink alcohol...probably for the best.

I was restless, anxious.

I lacked a feeling of freedom.

I felt trapped.

I showered until I washed the tears away.

And then it passed.

I was okay again.

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