Another Suitcase in another hall

I'm crying as I write this.

I had to leave, I had to end it. There was no other way to be true to both of us. But I look around at all the stuff I'm going to have to pack up and move, and I suddenly realise what I've done. And his reaction is so damned level-headed that it hurts. I mean, I didn't set out to hurt him, but I'd at least like to think that losing me hurts a little, you know?

On the other hand, he left for work two hours before he normally would. Maybe he just doesn't want me to see.

I made the right decision. I know that. So why does it hurt so damned much?

I feel like I just jumped out of a plane without a parachute into fog.

I try so hard to make people believe my emotional strength is like a mountain. But it isn't, and I prove that all the time. So why waste the effort anymore?

This journal is likely to be painful or pathetic, depending on viewpoint, for a few weeks. Feel free to opt out until it's over.

An attempt at humor between the tears

I guess I shouldn't have called the Fates "fickle bitches" in that last life, eh?

(no subject)

Whenever I'm really stressed, I find myself wishing my mother were around to talk to. This is weird when you consider I never really got to know my mom but, well, there it is.

I've been thinking it lately a LOT. And when I do, I start crying.

(no subject)

Insert a primal scream here.