It’s Not Okay

Hanging up on me – it’s not okay.

Telling me every time I place the key in the house door, or my car door, or see my boys, it’s because of you. Because you gave me a great life. It’s not okay.

These actions and comments represent a lack of respect. A lack of any acknowledgement of what I do, of what I contribute.

And every time I feel these words, like knives, they cut so deep. So deep I am not sure where the damage ends.

Stating how I feel only lends itself to comments that I am controlling. Exaggerations become truth. The web becomes insular. Yet, the weaver is ignorant to this, only projecting.

Truth is…I am so tired. Physically, emotionally, mentally. I know I will be okay. I know this. I have to be.

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