I cannot believe the amount of people who drag themselves out of bed to go to a pharmacy on Saturday morning. I'd have to be really sick personally, but then I suppose that's the point.
Sorry about my last post, and thanks for the phone calls. I'm just fine actually. Better than I've been in a while. For the past two months I've been walking around with a ticking timebomb in my pocket, and it just finally exploded. As odd as it may seem, I've very, very glad. Before this I could just pretend that it would go away and I could continue to live (in my opinion much happier, and certainly more honest) than I have in the past. Now there's no need to pretend. I've paid my dues and I'm free of the chains--even woohu is gone now. I'll never even check it again. I think it's the only way to completely wash myself of it.
What happened? I broke free from a friend. Not something I would ever recommend--but when you've gotta do it, you've just got to do it. There comes a breaking point. A point when you sit with them and talk about all the same things you always have, and you realize that that person has no idea who you are. They have no idea what you care about, and you start to wonder that even if they did--would they care? Have they been there when you needed them, and do you even want to be there for them either? There's a whole lot behind it, most of which I didn't even bother to explain. The reasons don't matter if they won't be heard.
The bottom line is I didn't need it anymore. I didn't want to go through this whole cycle all over again, like I did last year, and then again this summer. It's not worth it. You've got to pick and choose who will influence your life, and for how long. There are times when you come across choices, as this was, when you lose something no matter what you do. The question is though, if given such a choice, which side is more important to you? It's a matter of the heart.
This journal, in general, is a shadow of my life. It's a mirror of things in my mind that I wish to share with outsiders, or of something I'd like to come back and eventually read again to remember. My friends read this. My family reads this. It's a message to them. I don't write things in here about my life to portray myself as better than everyone else. Insecurity would only lead one to that uneducated conclusion. If I speak of my life as better now, it's because I, personally, have become a better person than I used to be. And as egotistical as it may sound, it doesn't have a thing to do with anyone else.
I spoke with my Mom today, and she told me exactly what I've been saying to myself in my head--though somehow it means more coming from her than it could've from anyone else:
It stings a little now, but you knew it would. You were prepared. And now that the wound has been cleaned, it can heal. You needed this Baby Girl, you needed to do this for you.
I did. It's done. I'm free. And now on with my life... I shall speak of it no more. To be quite honest, it's already gotten more of my time that it has ever deserved.