My spirits are beat down. I’m finally willing to admit it. The sleepless nights, indecisive thoughts, and eradic emotions are beginning to make sense. It’s hard to swallow your pride and admit when you’re hurt. It’s easy to mistake these feelings for weakness.
I’m not weak. I am hurt. I am struggling. And now I’m going to work to change that.
Consuming late night thoughts you strike again, I’m striking back.