I’ve watched almost the entire sixth season of Supernatural in the last week. I think I’m dying inside. I don’t even care that they don’t have British accents. The feels! It wouldn’t be quite so bad if I didn’t empathize with Sam so much. I’ve felt like this for a while, actually. There’s just been that nagging thought inside of me: “You’re faking it. You’re faking life.” I don’t live an exciting life. I’d rather stay in with a book than go out for dinner and a movie. But I’m so sick of feeling empty. I’ve had a wall in place to prevent being hurt for most of my life, but while it’s there, I can’t feel anything else either. It’s been so much worse this last month. A lot of stuff happened this summer, with the worst being a unilateral breakup. Unilateral as in, he didn’t know I liked him. But I let him get so deep inside my heart that he’ll probably never be completely gone. I wish I could be angry with him, but it’s my own fault.

And that’s the story of my life in a nutshell: my pain is all my own fault. Today was Day 6 of my 30 Days 30 Stories project, and I think yesterday’s piece was my favorite so far. I’ll try to post a couple of the pieces soon.


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