My dad is the biggest pain in my ass, but he is also the best pain.

It’s funny how all day the last thing I wanted to do was talk to anyone about what was wrong. I was convinced that talking fixed nothing, and I just wanted to run away, or get out and do something. But that wasn’t going to happen because I was too busy moping around and crying and watching TV.

I had refused to talk to anyone about it until my dad just sat me down and figured out what was wrong. It amazes me how he even knew because I didn’t say anything in-between stifled and labored breaths. And he just told me what to do about it. He basically told me that maybe I’m fucking up, and maybe I’m not, but I just have to fix it because I should figure out if this is salvageable, and if it is cool, and if it’s not, it will be a hell of a lot easier to figure that out and move on rather than moping and wondering.

So now I’m actually feeling a whole lot better, despite this headache, and I am willing to go outside again. Because my drama queen self was totally unwilling to leave this apartment.