I’m leaving tomorrow.
In many ways, this is a good thing. I’m leaving the burnt road behind me and starting anew. What’s more is that there aren’t many goodbyes to be said. There is no one left for me here except my family. That, however, is reason enough to feel the bitterness of leaving.
There’s much less confusion now. Less turmoil. I’ve been so battered up for the past 5 weeks, I don’t think I can afford to feel much more uncertainty. There’s still an emptiness somewhere and sometimes I feel like I’m struggling up a mountain of nothing. Despite the nothingness, the struggle wears me out enough to put me to bed pretty darn early.
I’m choosing to be happy. I felt like I need to say it loud enough in cyberspace for myself to hear. Everything so far has pushed me into feeling that happiness is a choice. And I’ve made all the wrong choices. For some reason, happiness to me, now, is withdrawing into my shell. Just to sort out what I am.
I’d like to say one other thing about happiness. Every thing seemed black until it was gone. After that, the slightest sliver of good seemed to shine through brighter. It’s a tacky comparison but that’s how it feels.
On a similar note, looking put together is easier than I thought. Contrary to the angst-ridden thoughts I (and many teenagers, I assume) have had, pretending to be put together isn’t a bad thing until you make it sound like a bad thing.
Pretending, sometimes, that I’m feeling better than I really am, makes me feel better. Like I can push through the emotional fog and do something.
So, anyway, tomorrow.
I’ll be ready.