The Morning After

If anyone reads this blog, I must sound like a lunatic. I’m not saying what I wrote yesterday wasn’t true, but I’m not a nutcase. Really.

You know, I’ve always reacted strongly to events. I’ve always ranted. But normally it’s all just noise and bluster because I’m scared or alone. Sure, I’d get upset and frustrated at people. But I liked them, too, and I had good times.

But I’m different now, somehow. When I was younger, I wasn’t this angry. (Can you believe it? I’m not even 19, and I’m already saying “When I was younger.”) I don’t like being this angry. But I’m not going to pretend the anger’s not there. Most days, I’m fine, but it simmers just beneath the surface, and sometimes, like yesterday, I just can’t stand it anymore and I say awful, crazy things.

This morning I woke up and I wasn’t angry at all. I was just sad and empty. I sorta apologized to mom for how I’ve been this week — not in person, in a note. I can’t manage much more right now.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’ll probably still move out. I need a change, and college wasn’t it. Heidi and I had planned to be roommates. I just couldn’t go afterwards. I just couldn’t.

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