So, the struggle has been real. 

So real that I feel my voice has been muted and thus I have not written. 

Christmas almost killed me. By Boxing Day I felt like I wanted to die. Quite literally, the will to be alive had been sucked from me. 

Firstly work had basically left me an emotional open wound. Many reasons which I will not explore here but I emotionally felt like a fresh graze on a hangover with sunburn. 

Then, Christmas – all the people. Who I love. But they all want you ‘on’, you know? So by Boxing Day I slept til 12pm and when I got up I wanted to be unconscious again as soon as humanly possible. 

So I fled home to be with my cat. 


The very next day it was time to drive to my brothers. It’s okay, his place is like a quiet haven of peace – no need to talk or be ‘on’ so there began my reset I suppose. 

And so now here I am, ready to submerse myself in festival culture for 3 days, I wonder where my head will be at the end!?

Is this emotionally intelligent? To seek enjoyment that drains me so thoroughly? Or is that the definition of stupidity… I can’t tell. 

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