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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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