Misery is a fickle cow

I was alone for a whole day today and I didn’t cry. I looked at his Instagram and saw him living his life and only hated that for a moment. I cannot begrudge him a little “normality” when I’ve upped sticks across the Atlantic.

I can feel myself frosting over. Choosing numbing indifference now over crushing disappointment. It’s taken 8 days but I don’t need the torture now. It’s his loss. It was his choice; that’s the bit I couldn’t take. I had no hand in the ending of our friendship- our relationship came second to him being my best friend.

Yes, it’s sad. Yes, it hurts. But it is what it is and I can’t change a thing. Being sad is exhausting. Constantly trying to avoid particular trains of thought is exhausting. Feeling hopeless and empty is exhausting. So let’s allow logic to take the reigns here.

If being sad is exhausting, don’t be sad. If clinging blindly to hope isn’t working, don’t do it. Upsetting myself over and over and over again does nothing to heal my wounds. So why do it? Self indulgent misery is not a long term solution

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