Some days, I feel like I’m running out of steam. Through the week the train moved faster and faster and I feel better and better and then I hit Friday. The train out runs itself. I crash and I crash pretty hard. It’s becoming a reocurring theme but at least a pattern is emerging. Unlike last year, where it was completely unpredictable.
It’s my birthday next week but I don’t really care for it. I’ve been told it’s important but it just seems like something that’s stopping me from being happy right now. I have to hold off feeling comfortable and happy until then, for then, which is alienating me. I’d rather nothing happened that weekend so that I could see everyone this weekend and the weekend before ect.ect. I’ve got to some how last until December without spending more than a couple of days at home. Last year I had a week in October, this year, I’m pushing aside uni crap so I can have a weekend at home for my birthday but I wish it was longer. I don’t care about having longer for Christmas. I feel like I’m dying now, and I would sacrifice anything to have someone visit me. I would sell both wardrobes full of my clothes. I would give away all of my food (not that I have much left).
Pondering over this is going to make me sad. May be I’m already too late. Sometimes I love living alone in Falmouth and something it feels like I’ve made myself a prison and I have to live with the consequence in silence. I keep telling myself it’s less than a year left and then I can return home and never have to leave it again, but I know I’m going to miss it. I don’t expect anyone to read this pile of crap. I can feel my anxiousness catching up with me. It’s shit.
I need a hug.