No, I’m not ok.

I don’t know why I’m volunteering this up considering how hard I work to make sure nobody finds out.

Whenever someone asks how I’m doing, I have to hold back the floodgates. I cry all day when my husband is at work. I can’t stop. I have a list of excuses to cycle through in case he can tell.

It’s easier to blame it on my list of health problems than to tell him what happened to me. He would never think less of me. I’d tell him if i could control when he is allowed to think about *it*. Maybe. I wish i could forget. I wish i could get the smell, taste, pain,him out of my everywhere.

I am almost 40 and I still feel like i sm 7… Watching my mother walk in, look at him on me, and walk out. I will never gt past that moment.

Im not okay.

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