There really is nothing to say. I have had a rocking good weekend, but it always seems like the things that should make me feel good...well they don't. They make me feel fishbowly. And I think back over every word I said, every move I made, and criticize the curlingiron outta myself. And I mousetrapping hate it. Hate, hate, hate it. I beat myself up over the stupidest of inconsequential things, then beat myself harder over beating myself up in the first place. Sometimes I want to sink into the ground and just have the air compressed out of my chest so I can't feel it anymore. I hate walking into a room alone. I hate fending for myself in conversations I didn't necessarily choose. I despise myself for wanting things I hate with good reason. I was doing so good today, for the first time in weeks. Back at square one.
Cuttingboard.
Like I said...there really is nothing to say.
No comments:
Post a Comment