I can’t do this anymore.

I can’t handle the emotional rollercoaster.

I can’t handle putting my family through this.

When I was little, my dad banned the word “can’t” from the house. “Ah ah ah, You can do anything you put your mind to.” He’d say, without fail, anytime we said “I can’t…”

I put my mind to recovery at least for a portion of every single day and I honestly don’t know if I can keep going.

I need a Come To Jesus Moment.

There’s a reason I cope this way. I truly cannot deal with my emotions.

If my brain was once a perfectly organized office with color-coded, alphabetized file cabinets–a bomb has gone off, destroyed any semblance of what was, annihilated every file and sprinkled pieces of once-locked papers, as if it were confetti, everywhere making it feel impossible to put back together.

I used to love puzzles. But not this one. I do not have confidence this puzzle has all the pieces and can ever be finished. This is a 10,000 piece puzzle where the dog chewed up some pieces and a toddler flushed some down the toilet. This is a 5-star sudoku that I might abandon. This is a crossword from 1975, and I can’t find the answers anywhere.

I can’t do this.

I can do this.

I can’t do this.

I need help doing this.

I’m getting help doing this.

Just keep showing up.

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