I hate that I still feel the need to write this thing that is not a blog. I hate that I still have to work out things I should have accepted a long time ago. I hate that I'm still stuck together, yet torn apart by my nevervanquishing desire to be noticed, to make a difference, to be a memory. But most of all, I hate how I don't hate myself anymore, because now when I break down, I don't have anything to fall back on. I don't know who I'm becoming, but I do know who I don't want to be. I'm scared I might end up exactly where I was, exactly where this whole thing started. It would be poetic in a way, even ever so slightly romantic. Oh how I wish I wasn't such a sentimental fool, perhaps then things would be easier. Perhaps I'd be happier. Perhaps I'd even be in love.
As I lay on the bathroom floor, still aching from all the vomiting, with the scent of rotten tequila in the air, it dawns upon me. I didn't embark on a new journey, I'm still walking the old one. What I thought was a new beginning, was just a crossroad in this long and perilous quest. The last five years have gone and passed, yet I'm still searching for the same thing. I think I always will be. But there is something different, though. I'm different. You can barely see it, but it's there. A new sense of belonging, of self awareness. I have a long march ahead of me, but I'm actually looking forward to it. Each mistake I make, is just a due I have to pay. A toll I cannot avoid, nor would I want to. I am flawed, and that's ok, because you know what? So are you.
