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296 pages, Paperback
Published June 8, 2021
I cry for that wife who I used to be, the one who trusted her husband never to hurt her, and to always be there. The one that knew who she was, and what she could do, and it was no small thing.
My depression is a knob dialed down to its lowest decibel, a rumbling of Overwhelmed and I Can’t Do This and a frantic but sluggish pursuit of Hope. It has no conversation, it only wants to: Shut. Everything. Down.
The three of us, we own our mental illnesses and hold them close. Like a rebellious sibling, we take care of them and tolerate them, even though they exhaust us.