I feel sick.
I still can’t do it.
Text message from my mom: “Just remember you’re worth. Don’t you ever forget that.”
Where do I start? Words are escaping me at the moment. Everything is escaping me at the moment. The life that I thought I knew, the plans that I thought I had, they fell through my fingertips faster than granules of sand on the California Coast.
I can’t do this right now. I’ll take this up later.
It’s crazy to me, the fact that the people you love most in this world have the capability to hurt you the most.
Perhaps I’m just too trusting. Perhaps I put my faith where I shouldn’t have.
Holy fucking hell. (Please excuse my language. Nothing else seems a worthy description of the present state of my brain)
That alarm came a lot earlier than I wanted it to.
Okay, I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to spit this out.
A song came on radio just now and I burst out into tears.
“They say “Love is more precious than gold”
Can’t be bought and it can’t be sold
I got love enough to spare
That makes me a millionaire”
The past 48 hours of my life have been exceptionally trying. This whole year, through everything that has happened, I’ve not once thought of myself as a loser, until today. I had an awakening today. I am a loser. I am. And I think it’s time that I start facing the very real reality that has become my life in 2019. I don’t say this in a self-deprecating way, or in a way that wants pity. I’m just trying to be real with myself.
I’m hurt. I’m sad. I’m questioning everything that I’ve ever done, especially that in the past two days. I had plans. I had a future. I had everything I ever wanted and it slipped through my fingers in the blink of an eye.
I don’t want to be here… in this place. Both literally and metaphorically. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what happened. I love you. I will always love you. I hope that you’re able to find some peace.
How did I get to this place? I did everything right. Every fucking thing. I got the degree. I chased the career. I was a nice person. I tried to be a good person. We all have flaws, but somehow, I don’t know, perhaps I was a serial killer in my past life.
So where am I at?
The reality with my life right now is that I have no plan, no job, no home. I am 30 years old and I am a loser. Two weeks ago I was the one in the cab telling a complete stranger that it’s never too late to start over, and now I’m realizing that perhaps I should have been telling myself that all along.
I need to start over. I know that. I need a Plan B. Actually, I think at this point I’m probably running on Plan F? Motivation, Vee. You’re responsible for motivating yourself from now on.It’s time to stop feeling sorry for yourself and start getting your shit together.
I never thought I’d be in this place in my life, but I’m sure that’s what everyone says right before they start over. So, I’m going to revert back to a quote I shared with a cab driver two weeks ago:
“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”
Here’s to starting over. I’m 30 years old and I need to make a new life. I’m scared.