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I cried today. It was the first time I've let myself cry in a long, long time. It was during a conversation with a friend whom I had cut out of my life. She was just trying to be a good friend, thinking that I had already recovered from all the things that have haunted me in the past year. But I haven't. I think, with the passing of time, that I've gotten worse. At handling things. At hoping.
In the middle of her begging me to meet her, I just found myself blurting out every reason why I couldn't see her. Ever. And it made me cry. Because she was still so nice. Because I was reminded of why she is a much better person than I am.
Because she is an example of someone living out my life the way it is supposed to. Orderly, successful, driven. Instead I am here. Cutting off people left and right. And then sobbing right after that.
I suppose it was coming. You don't spend two weeks in isolation and then deal with your worst insecurities on a daily basis and not pay for it somehow. This is the true price that I am paying for my desire to handle this job I think. I wonder what it is about me that reeks the most of strange?
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