I’m  getting really, really tired of having to think about my feelings.

For the second night in a row, I lay awake, their face flashing through my mind again and again and again. Guilt, fury, and shame all curled together in my gut, heavy as lead, weighing me down into the bed but keeping sleep at bay.

The guilt threatened to eat me alive. But the fury curled around it, hot and unrelenting, and justified every action past justification until I’m not sure what was right and what was wrong. Were their parents even wrong? Or mine? Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I went about it the wrong way.

Then came the shame. It was like fog, seeping into my chest, dousing the flames and filling my lungs. Making me choke on its lingering bitterness. If I had just kept my **** mouth shut, it would’ve been fine. Or maybe if I’d been bolder, I could’ve made a stand.

And once again, guilt spread through my gut, long fingers of ice scratching down my spine. I winced, dragging my pillow down over my face. All this thought about rights and wrongs...

It exhausts me in every sense of the word. My chest ached, their face appearing in my mind yet again. Were they just as torn, just as unsure as I was right now?

Guilt, fury, shame. The cycle continued. With a long, heavy sigh, I sit up; I guess I’m  not going to get much sleep tonight.

But what else is new.