At the intersection of two different triggers last week, I let myself sink into my darkened bedroom and cloudy thoughts.
I pulled the curtains across the brightness of the afternoon and climbed into my bed.
I wrapped the sheet and blankets around me tight.
The rawness of my core wound comes around every year.
The most vulnerable thing I could ever do is ask if you'd spend my birthday with me.
Even as I write the words, tears flood my eyes and spill over.
A knot clenches in my gut, and my throat becomes so tight it's almost impossible for me to breathe.
I try to swallow it down, but the icy terror in my heart threatens to heave up and out of my body.