Friday, 7 February 2014



I now know what it feels like to be figuratively slapped in the face.
It starts off with a close friend suddenly cutting our conversation about tea houses to say, "I'm sorry but we need to talk. You used to be this strong, independent woman but where has she gone? All I see is someone vulnerable. It's alright to bleed but it's not alright to die. You need to let this go and get your shit together. We want the old you back."

Oh, um, wow. If truth were to be something concrete, it would be a wrecking ball that has me standing in its direct path. Honestly, I'm still a little in shock. I feel exactly like how Mike Ross felt when he got his ass handed to him by Harvey Spectre to go get his shit together. I was so overwhelmed that escapism seemed like the best solution at that time. I always thought no one really knew that I'm actually struggling. If nobody asks, it means I'm doing fine. Sometimes I wonder if I'm an actor on stage or an actor in real life. Unfortunately, you choose your behaviour, you choose your consequences. I got so caught up that I wasn't able to see the forest for the trees and it took a close friend's brutal (but much appreciated) honesty to realize that.

But the past is the past is the past. This is something I must face alone. If someone puts a gun to my head, then I'll just have to either take the gun, pull out a bigger one or any other one hundred and forty-six other things. 

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