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Talking myself out of fun or weird or interesting things tended to be my modus operandi these days. Discomfort was so uncomfortable, and pajamas and murder shows were so delightfully cozy.
Did there exist even one individual who actually enjoyed online dating? Or bars? Or blind dates? No such thing, bro.
Even if she didn’t feel upset, she should’ve pretended. We did this for each other. When Grace was upset, I would get worked up with her so she didn’t have to be angry by herself. Being angry by oneself is irritating. Anger shared is comforting.
There’s a difference between being responsible and being a whiny little bitch who’s afraid of making a single fucking mistake and therefore walks around feeling all superior because they never did anything to hurt nobody.
It was time to adult like an adult and get over it.
Part of being an adult was learning how to get over hurt gracefully.
Well, well, well. My therapist and I were going to have a very full hour next week.
“Life is never exciting in the way you want it to be. If you want my advice, enjoy being bored. The alternative is exhausting.”
“Keeping it real, I think I’m most upset about the lack of dragons.”
If he’d been a book in a library, he’d have a yearlong waitlist.
as someone who loves you and knows you, I want to make sure you hear these words, because I never want you to doubt your own value, or what you bring to the table. You are not less than. You are, and always have been, greater than.”
Unpleasantness was an interesting word choice for locking me in an office and nearly ending my life.
As a rule, I didn’t like to speak to myself. It wasn’t a habit I felt I should adopt. Ever.
“I have to stay here, in this world, for no one but myself. If I left it, it wouldn’t be because I’m not loved enough by others.
“Everyone is in various stages of falling apart. All the time.”