Twenty-three thousand and nine hundred…

… its still amazes me that anyone even gives a shit. But I am glad they do.

I’m tired. And tiring.

I am fed up of people and from the responses I am getting these days, I think it’s mutual. It’s been a week of those crawl-under-the-blanket-and-die days but I’m still standing. Juggling panic attacks with morons for site managers, ducking anxiety symptoms by throwing myself headlong into other people’s problems (You haven’t eaten all day???!! Oh God, ;let me feed you before you collapse on me) and basically running away from myself. I am surprised at how swift and devious I can be with my own self. But one of these days you have to just stop running and you run out of places to hide. Yes, including the crawling & die blanket. I think I am getting near to that point and frankly, it’s terrifying.

My father tells me I am my own worst enemy. I really want to tell him I actually like myself a bit more than I do him, but I know there is truth in what he says.

I am the enemy. I really am.

(p.s. I have said I’m sorry and I do mean it. Please come back.)

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