Sometimes you convince yourself that you're fine. So much that it's a surprise when it dawns on you you're not. That's a good job of ignoring your feelings, not that I'd recommend. In fact, it was just what I advised my Tumblr-friend against a few days ago. Yet I sat in the middle of my bed, staring at my curtains with a wobbly lip. Letting out a sob, it turned out to be one of those sobs that can't be stifled, and before I knew it, my head was in my hands and I couldn't bloody stop crying. Like a dam opening the floodgates. I can't remember ever crying like that unless it's because of a sad movie/book. I had to stop eventually, when my brother cautiously knocked on my door, notifying me about food. By then I'd used three kleenex's. Food wasn't exactly my priority, instead I got my sketchpad and blue pen out. Started writing with my hand like I haven't done in ages. It was very nurse-y of me, because I wrote down all of my negative thoughts, everything, so I could have it in front of me. The crying that had subsided started again, but I continued writing. Then I went to get food, and have a little break to think of the things I'd written. Went back to my sketchpad, and I started writing a list of positive things about myself. I'm not fine-- if anyone asks and I answer "I'm fine", it's probably a lie. I'm in a difficult period of my life, and I'm struggling to understand anything. However, today was most progress I've done in a long time, the most honest I've been with myself for a long while.
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