what’s the point?  it’s like a ball and chain is tied to my chest and it’s trying to drag me into an early grave. i got diagnosed with complex ptsd and all my trauma hit me like a ton of bricks. i drowned out what she was saying but one bit has been replaying in my mind, “it’ll take at least two years to get through it…” is that true? i pushed everything he did so far into the back of my mind and it got ripped out and put on a silver platter right in front of my face. two years. at least. two years of talking about him. two years of being under a microscope and having my mind invaded and dissected all over again. they keep putting me on new meds too. if this is truly what life is for me, what is the fucking point in breathing