I’ve been doing fine for just about a month and a half.  Didn’t give a shit about it at all.  Then I looked in that fucking box and opened that fucking notebook. Whoops. Not quite square one, but not quite perfectly detached either.

I should feel awesome.  I have two jobs, getting decent grades, and am doing what I love and what I always wanted to do. I am ill but I’m not dead.  I should be winning.

Fuck it.