When you still try to stick to facts and details but the moment it turns to emotional facts and details, you're just f*cked.
(Reminiscing to a past conversation & another current conversation. I was just fine talking things I didn't speak of in ages as that friend already had a goddamn idea, parts of similar history, and told me equally deep things she didn't share before. It was detached enough. It wasn't worrying about people that are never going back. Note to self: apparently after processing dead children, we're at processing missing children. f*ck my life. f*ck a few months to come as well, when that work is postponed & I can't just take care of people I've been doing past a few months. Hello darkness, my old friend.)