What has one pen, one notebook, a cup of coffee, and wants to stab themselves in the eye? Me.

Not really though. Maybe a little. But then I think it would be hard to see and type and write. Besides, my left eye is a little blurry and my right eye is itchy from allergies, but they work very well in a pair. So, no, I will not be stabbing my eye-any eye- out.

After a few days of being stuck in trying to make my story sound better to me, I have decided to start all over. From the beginning and instead of using first person, I will write it in third person. I have written a few sections that were previously in first person to third person, and I think it flows better. To me anyway. Right now, I guess that is all that matters.

Writing the book the first time cost me a few friends and from the looks of it a possible relationship. But I guess in a way, it pushed out what I really didn’t need in my life anyway. That sounds terrible right? I feel terrible for saying that, but it is how I rationalize it to myself. The moments when I sit and think about the ones that haven’t cared about what has been going on with me and I get sad, I feel the need to rationalize with, “I didn’t need them in the first place, I guess.”

The hardest part is that my circle is so small, like pretty much me. That can be both a blessing and a curse. The blessing part comes from the fact that at times, communication with others literally exhausts me. Like, physically makes me tired. I guess that’s the depressed part of me that really doesn’t like to be around the situations I used to love being around. The curse part comes from the times when I would really just like someone to talk to…someone other than my dog or my mom. My mom is always there when I need to talk, and God knows I love her for it. But sometimes, I just like someone else. So in those moments, I question how I got to the point where I am now. I spend my time writing, discovering new music, listening to podcasts, reading, watching TV. And then sometimes I go on Facebook and see the people that I used to call friend with their friends, and I’m all, “Hey that was my friend, what are ya’ll doing without me?”

Then I remember that the “friend” didn’t understand things I was going through, things I was too embarrassed to talk about, things that made me feel like there was no one out there that would understand me. And instead of just sticking through it with me, they left. And I am by no means blaming anyone because I let that happen also. But the times they needed someone just to sit and be quiet with, to lean on and be there for them, to just be with them…I was that person. And not one of them was that for me. But that is fine, because at least with this second go round of writing the book over again, I know that for a fact I have one person I can’t lose; myself.

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