It’s cold. I usually feel very lethargic and fat (which I do, of course).
I realized last night, I have never been asked out. I’ve always been the asker. And as things keep moving, I’m getting that itch to make the move. But then I think: this isn’t high school. This isn’t some puppy eyed little boy. And then I think: Oh my god. This is someone older than me. Experienced. I’m scared. I’ve always been the dominant one. But in this I don’t. And the truth is… I kind of like it. I like the idea of not always having to take hold of the reins.
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve had actual crushes, and as annoying as they are, it’s nice to know I can feel again.
It’s where we do our most deep and meaningful thinking after all.
I can be sad. I don’t have to credit every negative emotion on my depression or my eating disorder. If I want to cry, I can. It’s not a sign weakness or that I’m surrendering myself to depression. People feel sad, whether they struggle with depression or not. I can’t keep beating myself up over being sad. It’s normal. Anyone would be sad if their friend, someone they care about, hasn’t spoken to them in months, or says they resent you but won’t give you the courtesy to tell you why. It hurts, and you know what? It’s okay. I doesn’t mean I’ve hit a set back in my recovery. It just means I’m fucking human.
I’m sad and hurt, and that’s okay. I’m done beating myself up for having a heart that beats.
I hope tomorrow is better.
I still feel like something is festering in the pit of my stomach. I just want to keep it buried and unseen, but I know it’s probably going to break out no matter how hard I try. Emotions don’t go quietly, especially ones that you don’t want.
I hate, hate, hate when feelings from dreams carry over into reality.
I’m not sad, but I’m not happy. I’m not homesick, but I miss people. I’m glad to be at school, but wish I could be other places. I want to talk, but have nothing to say. I care and don’t care all at the same time.