I was a mess this morning after Harry Potter ended. When I finally got home I had about an hour to kill before I had to get my parents up to leave for the bus station. That's when the anxiety really started to kick in. Should I go? Do I deserve to go? What if the anxiety doesn't stop crawling up my spine and paralyzing me? Will my mom be okay for a whole week without me? Fuck, will I be okay without my mom for a whole week? Can I do this? Back and forth, back and forth, and I can't just quiet my mind down. It's always go, go, go.
With that being said, I am happy to be here. I cannot express what it felt like to throw my arms around my friend and exhale. To breathe in the city. Its 1230am right now and I hear sirens and traffic and people and subways and I want to soak it all up. I want to fall into every story, be a part of it, breathe it, live it. I want more, always want more even though I feel I have nothing to offer this city. I have nothing. I am nothing. Or so, that's how I feel these days.
Crying quietly in the next room over from my friend so it doesn't wake her because I don't deserve this, or her. I feel unworthy. I feel unworthy of the friendship. And I cried, I cried when she offered to come see me in Toronto because nobody has ever fucking just done that for me. I cried because I feel like the biggest piece of shit who does not deserve it. Deserve her. Diseased, miserable person that can't be around people like her in case I infect. Infect. Parasite. Gross. Fucking shit gross. I can't express the level in which I despise myself - the sinking, crawling, squirming feeling of wanting out of this skin. I want out.
Exhausted. Going to try and get some sleep now. Put on a brave face tomorrow. Get my shit together.
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