I’m exhausted.
From everything that followed.
The entanglement. The damage.
I wasn’t prepared for this.
The blunt-force trauma I didn’t know I’d sustain.
The neurological injury.
I’m grieving so many things.
Abandonment. The loss of safety.
Not just safety in others, or in the belief that love can be enough,
but safety in my own body.
I shouldn’t have to do all of this.
Nothing feels stable anymore.
Not my sense of reality.
Not my capacity to heal.
Not the future.
Old wounds aren’t old anymore.
They’re ripped wide open.
They’re gaping. Bleeding.
In need of sutures.
But I only have sewing thread in my box.
Too flimsy. Not sterile.
I can’t stop the bleeding or the infection from spreading.
Septic shock feels inevitable.
Where are the antibiotics.
The pain medication.
I won’t survive without them.
Call the doctor.
Transfer me to the ICU.
I need a higher level of care.