The sharp shriek of rubber on dim lit linoleum takes me back three years in time as suddenly as it pierces the silence. That and the smell.
On. Off. on and off. busy Doing Hard Time and distraction from things that fill a Soul. avoidance of all joy and sorrow equally measured
I never ask for help. It’s a part of my trauma reaction to lie about how I’m really doing, to “suck it up buttercup”…