Being Busy.

I’ve been losing sleep lately.

I stay at the office late.

I go to the gym late at night.

Then I stay up writing, editing, and thinking.

I have a list of things I need to accomplish and it’s entirely too easy for me to be hard on myself.

I’ve had to push myself.

By myself.

That habit was forged in the fire of abandonment and neglect that was my childhood.  But on the bright side, I’m becoming everything I wanted to be.

And because of that, I’m busy.  And because of that, I’m reminded of you constantly.

Me “being busy” was your excuse not to talk to me.

It’s why you waited to tell me my Uncle had cancer.

It’s why you waited until the last-minute to tell me Grandma was on her deathbed.

It’s why you didn’t want me to see you after you had your first seizure and hospitalization. 

It’s a statement that cuts like glass across my skin.

It makes me shatter. 

When people offhandedly say that same observation, which would be entirely factual, I become tense and I tighten my jaw.  My reaction is instinctual.  I brace for impact.

But then I take a deep breath.  I let it go.  Another habit I picked up at the forge.

I learned how to cope.

And that’s why I’m always so busy.

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