I’m on a plane, on my way to Denver. I’m trying to convince myself that I’m not running away from anything and instead, I’m spending the time to pay attention to myself. I think it’s working. You know, take care of myself, listen to my feelings. That sort of thing. This, right now, seems like a good idea… but it may turn up being really bad. I’m prepared to take on the worst. I’ve been warned before that I might feel extremely alone and that I might not have the emotional support that I need. Another person told me that running away was dumb. I’ve had these things in mind. I thought about it extremely carefully and now the decision cannot be undone. I feel broken. I feel lost. And I think I’m in search of something but I don’t know what.
Will my heart stop if I hold my breath?
These last few days have been especially hard on me. My stomach has been churning and I have little to no appetite. I keep coughing because it feels like something’s in my throat. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to be kind to myself. I’ve been staying in. I ripped the old posters off my walls. They didn’t mean anything to me. So I’ve slowly been putting up all the things that do have meaning. I find myself just sitting around, looking at it this wall of mine. It made me feel better. Yesterday, my work on it had to come to a pause because there was a shelf I had to pick up and put up before I could position whatever posters I had left. I didn’t have mood or energy to do anything else. I just spent the rest of the time in bed.
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Can’t look at 1984 the same anymore but I brought with me.