It’s been 11 weeks since I thought I died, 9 weeks since I gathered up my strength and planted my feet on the ground, and 4 weeks since I decided to climb out of that fucking hole I fell in (and successfully did). The longer the weeks get, the more excited I feel. And it just doesn’t stop at the counted numbers, but it’s incessant with the people I meet and spend time with along the way.
How am I? I’m obviously happy. And I’m back to the business of being adventurous. I’ve never felt this free, despite the fact that I’m grounded because I was too drunk to give a fuck about going home last weekend.
My friends are so caring, and they have always been, but they are recently telling me to restrain from relationships and even dating. I don’t know what’s up, but that’s what’s happening. Did I really look so broken and hopeless during my downfall? I can’t remember looking alike, except for the first week that my eyes were watered, frown on my face and shoulders slumped.
I’m not scared, not scared at all. If I get hurt, let it be. 🙂