Was it really that bad? They question you. You question yourself.
If you survived it, could it have really been that bad after all? After all: it is all over, you’re here. Still. You’re walking upright. You’re functioning. Coping. You must be okay. Right?
I can’t compare my bad to your bad. Your bad doesn’t compare to mine.
In a face-off of bad things that happen, whose bad thing(s) would win.? It’s not a contest though. Into each life some rain must fall, some bad must happen. (Although, undeniably, some people get more than their share. And sometimes, one bad thing breaking through seems to bring bad-ass/bad-news companions along.)
You keep busy. You show up. You joke. Your tears are privately shed if at all. You rarely vocalize your pain.
I can’t look at your outside and see the internal turmoil, doubts, fears and/or pain you tamp down.
You do sometimes roll your eyes when you hear of the minor irritations some people think of as bad because you have survived so much worse but wait there I go comparing and that’s not appropriate, is it?
After looking at your bad, I think, I’ll keep my own, thank you very much. (I don’t want anybody else’s good either…I want my own.
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