This is in case you stumble here and it’s not immediately known what you find yourself reading; I wanted to warn you, in case you’re in a place right now that makes it unhealthy for you to read it.
My mother had cancer. I worked through my feelings when I could but I compartmentalize as if it were like breathing. It’s fine in the short-term, but in order to function, I utilized it long term. The damage of that I’m still undoing; part of the work I continue to do for myself. Having known grief before, I’m aware the tendency orbits me, because I’ll want to function.
So, I write through it.
CW/TW: For the tag No One Is An Island (it delves into Clinical Depression and what it did to me). Clinical depression, cutting off feelings entirely.
This series of entries were written previously, shared wi’ family I trusted. I decided to publish them now. Since much still applies, I have also found myself going back to them when writing other things. More importantly, as you will understand if you’re able to keep reading until the finish, when I say ‘It feels like the thing to do,’ it’s a helluva statement. Minor edits have been made to correct structure/typos/flow.
Take care of you.