To those of you that fear recovery because you’ve become so comfortable with your suffering:

You don’t notice it leave. It goes away slowly and you don’t even notice it’s gone until youre happy and content.

You won’t miss it. It won’t hurt. You won’t be empty. I promise it will be so much better than your head tells you.

OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, NOT THIS AGAIN!

(Mr. Mackey voice: “Not the goddamn Hardly Boys!”)

I feel like I’m in mourning.

I haven’t reacted this badly to a rejection in years.

Ah, yes, the lovely feeling when a kid I once coached in a musical triggers me to remember the time I almost killed myself because I disagree with them on skewed stats and the state of modern activism. Yay. Kids these days.

It was scary how I was hyperventilating today. It was like each breath broke in half: in-in, out-out, in-in, out-out, so on and so forth. Lucky for me, the grant-writing class calmed me down.

I gotta go to class in fifteen minutes and I’m having a panic attack at work. Great timing. Wonderful first impression.

Are you fucking serious.

and I went all the way to the mailbox with Sushi because my shoulder’s made it so I can’t fucking drive and my mother sent me a fucking poem out of the New Yorker when I asked her months ago no more newspaper clippings they clutter up the house and I’m sitting here making noises like a dying animal because NO ONE LISTENS TO ME NO ONE GIVES A SHIT WHAT I WANT NO ONE EVEN FUCKING CARES

I haven’t been this depressed in a while