I’ve been inconsistent. Ever since I got home from my three-week road trip, not a single part of me has wanted to leave my bed. Don’t get me wrong—I’ve definitely left my bed—but I feel like my body could sleep forever. I did so much socializing and driving in those three weeks that the need to recluse is boiling through my veins.
I don’t like the feeling. It’s like this urge to run away, and every part of me is forcing myself to stay social and active. But it’s so fucking draining. I could cry. I’ll get over that, though.
Sometimes I think the reason I distance myself from people is to prepare for when I inevitably leave and probably won’t see them for months at a time. It’s like a survival tactic—grieve them while they’re still present so you don’t have to grieve them when they’re gone. I have one year left to grieve the life I’ve had in Maine, and I feel like I’m already starting the process.
Anyway, what else is new? Me trying to run away from my feelings is so very mundane.
I do like a boy, though. Shocking. No one prepares you for the realization of how crazy you think you are until you meet someone who never calls you crazy—someone who immediately apologizes when your feelings are hurt, who actually listens when you complain or feel sad. He never once complains about anything I do.
He puts up with me in the best way possible, and it makes me feel crazy. It’s made me realize how toxic I can be at times, and trying to unlearn all the things from my past is fucking hard.