Yes, it's true. I'm a recluse. Not the old, solitary, get-off-my-lawn type. I'm relatively young, married and have a child. Just your average young, married mother who considers herself a recluse.
I didn't become a recluse overnight. Oh no, perish the thought. A lot of things happened over the years. I won't bore you with the details so I'll just mention things like scarce work, health problems and, a little more recently, pregnancy. Relocating to another country also didn't help matters. And my lack of social skills, well, I will not mention that one... too much. I do still have a socially-acceptable mask and therefore still care what the neighbours think. If only I didn't. I'd have completed the picture: Sitting on the porch, brandishing a shotgun, yelling at the young whippersnappers walking past.
But it's time for this recluse to readjust the socially-acceptable mask and once more join the living out in the real world. I have a job again. I started yesterday, in fact. It's not your average desk job. I am now part of a team that looks after kids in the afternoon. Nerves were wrecked, body ached long after I clocked out and I whispered sweet nothings to my pillow before I fell asleep.
Wish me luck, dear reader, as this recluse emerges from her comfortable four walls. It's not easy. But I suppose it will get better.
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