I feel so tired.
- I skipped class tonight. I’ve been sick but my physical health didn’t really warrant a class absence—my mental health, however, did. I’ve spiraled out of control the last few nights. I’ve doubted my relationship and the person who loves me, distrusted my capability to interact with another human being, and let my sanity detach from its internal hinges.
- I almost left Cody’s room at 1 o’clock last night to wander around town with no assurance of whether or not I’d come back. He wouldn’t let go of my arm, so I crawled back into bed. I think I might have just gone home though—jumped in my car and drove to the cabin. I would have been safe there.
- I stopped writing in my journal. My tongue tastes like graphite from all the stress I refuse to release; it craves paper where I can dislodge the unmanageable amount of thoughts I’ve piled in my brain.
- I don’t want to eat.
- I have writer’s block.
- I’m going to start training again—for no one else but me. I’m going to run fast again, for me. For me.
Good night darlings.