That place of loneliness and regret. Of tears, hopelessness and illness.
I can't. I won't. I refuse.
I was miserable. Completely and utterly miserable. I did not shut my self up or cut myself off from people on purpose, no, I did not even realize that I was doing it. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know how to change it.
I knew I was sick, but I did not know how sick. I knew I was depressed, but I did not know how badly.
Something is wrong when you wake up with dread to meet the sun. Something isn't right when you don't even have the strength to pray.
That started nearly a year ago. And I'm afraid. Afraid that things will be that way again.
These past three weeks have been happy. For the first time in years, I don't feel weighed down by my turbulent past. I feel more like me. I am still shy and awkward, but (hopefully) in a more lovable, less intimidating manner. I've carried on conversations with people without worrying about what to say next. I've reconnected with old friends. I've let myself be talkative.
I haven't shut myself up. Lord willing, I won't ever again.
I am going to take care of myself this year. This is me, making a promise. My yes is yes.
|There was a toga party at the Parthenon!|