I push my hair back from my eyes and squint as the streaming sunlight spears through my dimmed room. Was daytime always this bright?
I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, gently, as if the slightest force will damage the memories woven there.
I think about that day when I came home from that place, the day I discovered that maybe the people you thought cared didn’t really at all, the day I wondered when I was going to bleed dry, the day I stared in the mirror, fed up, exhausted, and decided, I don’t want to be this anymore.
But it’s so hard to change, so hard to let go.

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