What the hell…Chilly’s little spot on lit

Sigh…it’s one of those nights. I retrace every memory and wonder if any of it was real, meant anything. It just makes me wonder what was the point of it all.

ETA: I think my brain just picks this because it’s the newest, freshest trauma and had no formal closure. We talked through it in therapy and I realized no closure was closure and I don’t like it but it is what it is. I don’t hate the guy, I don’t have any ill will, for the most part I feel indifferent. So I think it’s just my brain grabbing on to something to make the anxiety focused if that makes sense.
 
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