You are not lucky to be supported. You are not lucky to have love.
Why can I smack my child but not you?
And well, I’m not dying. But it sure feels like it and I can’t tell the difference at this point. My thoughts race to Shaun coming home from work to find the kids watching Tv and me, a contorted mess on the floor after dying in my bedroom of a panic attack. And in the meantime a dog has eaten me.
My reasons for this are personal. Openly, and utterly personal to me.