(no subject)
So, not quite so happy birthday to me.
On Wednesday night, or the morning before Thursday, I got sick to my stomach. I was stuck in the bathroom for hours, between wanting to throw up and just in the bathroom, you know? It was awful. I slept a bit, got to work late (because not going to work is actually ten times worse than going and wanting to die there), and had nothing to eat most of the day, because I was afraid I'd end up sick again. I had a bit ford dinner and then crawled back into bed. Friday was better, at least I had appetite and I have no idea what made me want to go for pizza for lunch with my coworkers, but go I did. Oh, well. I ended up a bit worse for the wear, what with the grease I had and everything. And last night, I just had this nice dinner with my mom and gran and two of my college friends. Not even my dad came to dinner, and I'm not talking about that, not right now.
And after that, I got depressed as hell. Dude. AS HELL. It was that first week after, all over again. I have no idea why. I just... it was a pain in the ass. I was crying and wishing to hell I could stop and not really being able to stop. I don't know what happened.
Okay, I do know what happened. Yesterday I turned 28 years old. The last birthday I was alone, I was 18. I had spent the last nine birthdays with a guy that I was totally in love with. I still kinda am, I think, a bit. I just... it broke me, in a bit. It keeps breaking me, bits by bits. But it's getting better. It is. I'm... not as hurt as I used to be. I had a pretty good three weeks, and it was good, it was fun. It was amazing, in a way, because I was moving. But then again, two steps forward and three steps back, right?
I'm feeling better now, finally, and I kinda want to write but first I wanna go out and buy myself a new keyboard that doesn't hurt my fingers when I write. *g* How about that?
On Wednesday night, or the morning before Thursday, I got sick to my stomach. I was stuck in the bathroom for hours, between wanting to throw up and just in the bathroom, you know? It was awful. I slept a bit, got to work late (because not going to work is actually ten times worse than going and wanting to die there), and had nothing to eat most of the day, because I was afraid I'd end up sick again. I had a bit ford dinner and then crawled back into bed. Friday was better, at least I had appetite and I have no idea what made me want to go for pizza for lunch with my coworkers, but go I did. Oh, well. I ended up a bit worse for the wear, what with the grease I had and everything. And last night, I just had this nice dinner with my mom and gran and two of my college friends. Not even my dad came to dinner, and I'm not talking about that, not right now.
And after that, I got depressed as hell. Dude. AS HELL. It was that first week after, all over again. I have no idea why. I just... it was a pain in the ass. I was crying and wishing to hell I could stop and not really being able to stop. I don't know what happened.
Okay, I do know what happened. Yesterday I turned 28 years old. The last birthday I was alone, I was 18. I had spent the last nine birthdays with a guy that I was totally in love with. I still kinda am, I think, a bit. I just... it broke me, in a bit. It keeps breaking me, bits by bits. But it's getting better. It is. I'm... not as hurt as I used to be. I had a pretty good three weeks, and it was good, it was fun. It was amazing, in a way, because I was moving. But then again, two steps forward and three steps back, right?
I'm feeling better now, finally, and I kinda want to write but first I wanna go out and buy myself a new keyboard that doesn't hurt my fingers when I write. *g* How about that?