The Real Day 14

Nights are by far the hardest. The thoughts that I can keep at bay during the day creep in slowly, like calories. I am sufficating under the weight. There is an exhaustive amount of things to think about, advocate for and do. And even though I have help, I am never sure what I need till the last minute. Then I become to scared to ask, not wanting to burden anyone. I know, I need to get over myself. It's all a process, nothing comes quickly. I lull myslef to sleep by convincing myself it'll all look better in the morning. Every night is the same. Every morning I awake with fear pounding on the back inside of my head.

Two weeks ago...Art was diagnosed.

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