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I’m so busy worrying about if he’s okay that I’ve forgotten to notice that I’m not. I’m not okay. Maybe it’s better if I pretend for a bit longer that I am. Maybe I shouldn’t post this. Maybe I’ll delete it in a few minutes, hours, days. My choice, I should be okay with it, I claim ownership for the decision, but somehow, for some reason, I thought that meant I had to be okay, and being okay means not letting anyone know that I’m pretending about being okay, including myself.

I’m not okay. I’m not pretending right now.

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