July 6, 2012
I hope this is the year I stop constantly feeling like I have a lump in my throat. 
I hope this is the year I stop being afraid to talk to strangers.
I hope this is the year I don’t get scared and overwhelmed whenever the slightest thing changes.
I hope this is the year I stop spending hours staring blankly at my computer screen, too anxious to start anything, and too afraid to finish.
I hope this is the year I stop being afraid to answer the phone.
I hope that one day I’ll be able to look forward to things, and not want to bury my head or run away.
I want to not feel afraid to reach out and ask for help when I need it. Not to constantly feel like I can’t find the words any more, and not to stutter.
On my birthday last year, I watched a movie with my dad and then hung out in a bar for an hour and a half with the small handfull of acquaintances that showed up off of a brief public message on facebook.
Now, as I type this, it’s six in the morning, and I’m sleeping on the third or fourth couch I’ve been on since the beginning of June (though a disproportionate amount of the month I spent with my friend Brett, author of Owner of Cat, to whom I’ve very grateful). There’s somebody snoring on the other side of the living room, and it is humid. I can hear grasshoppers chirp, and the sky is starting to get blue, and I’ve been sitting for hours trying to figure out what, something, anything, I could say in summation of the last year of my life, and becoming afraid that I wasted too much time hiding in my room, too afraid to go outside.
I don’t know if I can fix any of that, but I think at this point I would settle for once, just once, not being afraid of today. 
Maybe I’ll see you around. 

I hope this is the year I stop constantly feeling like I have a lump in my throat. 

I hope this is the year I stop being afraid to talk to strangers.

I hope this is the year I don’t get scared and overwhelmed whenever the slightest thing changes.

I hope this is the year I stop spending hours staring blankly at my computer screen, too anxious to start anything, and too afraid to finish.

I hope this is the year I stop being afraid to answer the phone.

I hope that one day I’ll be able to look forward to things, and not want to bury my head or run away.

I want to not feel afraid to reach out and ask for help when I need it. Not to constantly feel like I can’t find the words any more, and not to stutter.

On my birthday last year, I watched a movie with my dad and then hung out in a bar for an hour and a half with the small handfull of acquaintances that showed up off of a brief public message on facebook.

Now, as I type this, it’s six in the morning, and I’m sleeping on the third or fourth couch I’ve been on since the beginning of June (though a disproportionate amount of the month I spent with my friend Brett, author of Owner of Cat, to whom I’ve very grateful). There’s somebody snoring on the other side of the living room, and it is humid. I can hear grasshoppers chirp, and the sky is starting to get blue, and I’ve been sitting for hours trying to figure out what, something, anything, I could say in summation of the last year of my life, and becoming afraid that I wasted too much time hiding in my room, too afraid to go outside.

I don’t know if I can fix any of that, but I think at this point I would settle for once, just once, not being afraid of today. 

Maybe I’ll see you around.