Dear Readers,
Today, I woke up feeling… numb. Not tired, not sad — just hollow. The kind of emptiness that lingers after a rough night. Last night was the first time in a long while that I had strong night terrors again, and I think it’s because the date of my traumatic event is creeping closer. My body remembers, even when my mind tries to pretend it doesn’t.
It’s been sitting on my chest all day — heavy and sharp — and I’ve been trying my best to keep it contained. I don’t want to make my partners worry. But the truth is, I’m struggling. The memories, the tension, and the fact that there’s still an active case with the police… it all makes me jumpier than I want to be. I’ve been doing my breathing exercises, trying to stay grounded, but sometimes they feel like whispering to a storm.
Work didn’t make things any easier today. I had back-to-back meetings, and of course, a few families reached out upset that they hadn’t been informed about one of our school closures. On top of that, my district manager — who’s already been short with me since I turned in my two weeks — has made it clear she’s not happy I’m leaving. Everything feels louder and harder, like every small thing takes twice as much energy as it should.
I’ve been coloring more lately. It’s one of the few things that helps me slip into my little happy space, even if only for a while. I haven’t told Bisa that’s why I’ve been doing it more often — sometimes it’s easier not to explain. He already has a lot on his plate, and I don’t want to add to it.
Before work, I spent a bit of time with Bisa and Bitey, watching a few episodes of Game of Thrones. Bisa was outside cutting trees for his dad, though that turned messy when his parents started arguing — something about miscommunication. The irony of that wasn’t lost on me; it feels like miscommunication has been everywhere in my life lately.
When I got to my pool location, I realized no one had told me I didn’t need to be there early. I arrived at four, set everything up, and just waited. My district manager avoided me most of the afternoon, and it stung more than I expected. I thought we might still be friends outside of work, but I guess that chapter is closing too. I offered her a ride home, but she left early instead.
To make things worse, I found out that my new job has been trying to reach her for employment verification — nine times, apparently — and she still hasn’t called them back. She even told me she’s been ignoring the calls. That frustration hit deep. I can’t help but feel like she’s trying to block me, and it’s exhausting.
When I shared my frustration with Bisa, he tried to fix it. He always does. But I wasn’t looking for a solution — I just needed someone to listen. Instead, it turned into tension between us, and I felt myself shutting down.
By the time I got home, I found out my dad was still here — he was supposed to go to Canada today but stayed because my mom guilted him into it. She’s worried about my brother, and with both of them not working, the house just feels heavy. Like I’m surrounded by dread that no one else seems to notice.
Even now, Bisa and I are on call but muted — watching a movie together in silence. We snapped at each other earlier when I told him I loved him mid-bite of my dinner, and he scolded me for talking with food in my mouth. It wasn’t about the food. I just wanted to connect. But instead, it all spiraled into quiet distance, the kind that aches more than shouting ever could.
So here I am, writing this with my shoulder still aching, my mind spinning, and my heart feeling like it’s walking on glass. I think I’m going to need to see a doctor soon — for my shoulder, at least. As for the rest… maybe I just need to keep breathing, keep coloring, and keep putting one word after another.
Some days, survival is just doing the next small thing. And tonight, that small thing is this — writing to you.
With love,
Monique
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