Unpacking

It's been a while, hasn't it? Since I've posted, I mean. That's not to say that I haven't been recording things here and there; just been hand writing some stuff to spare my computer and anyone unfortunate enough to stumble onto the tail end of this blog. That being said, I've also been avoiding some things, because reasons. And now I have to do something with all those things that I didn't want to admit, but can no longer deny. I'm posting it here, possible consequences be damned, because I know for a fact my handwriting won't hold up through all of this emotional vomit and internal screaming put into words.


Where even to begin? I suppose the most logical place would be... Sometime about two years ago, I think? Perhaps three, now. The days, years even, have been blurring into an indiscernable jumble of events. I don't think the exact time elapsed really matters, though. Things have just gone on for too long, and that's on me.

It always comes back to strength, in one way or another. I force myself to be stronger than I really am, or I try to be strong when I shouldn't, or I mistake a myriad of other emotions for strength. I'm not sure I even know what strength is at this point. Can you even quantify something like that? I guess that's part of my problem. I ask too many questions that don't have answers, or are dependent on too many variables to be reliable.

I've been surviving, barely. But I don't feel strong. It's dogged, in a way. I'm only here because I promised not to not be here. It's really the only thing that keeps me clawing my way from one day to the next. One promise that I absolutely refuse to break. Because that's all I have. The person I made the promise to doesn't even talk to me anymore; wouldn't know if I broke that promise... Probably doesn't even remember that I gave my word to begin with. But I remember. I remember that I was feeling somewhat like I do now, and so a friend begged me to promise that no matter how hard things got, I would never try to escape by taking my own life. And I did. I promised.

I almost regret it.

But a promise is a promise, and even more so for me. I... don't have a lot of value as a human being. I'm not especially kind, I'm not particularly gifted in any notable way, and I have a habit of being distrustful and skittish, cutting away or turning my back on aspects of myself that I deem to be weaknesses. I'm cold, I suppose. But the one thing I do have, is that I don't lightly go back on my promises. I can't break this promise. I won't do it. I made the promise, and the only thing that pushes me to even consider breaking it is despair... Which is temporary. I know it's temporary. Sometimes it just sinks it's jaws in a little deeper, holds on a little longer. I know that if I just keep moving, even if it's at this miserable, dogged pace, I'll shake myself free of it eventually.

This survival isn't strength, though. I've never felt weaker. More vulnerable. More Frightened.

I keep trying to cut away and shut out certain emotions or memories... Lines of thought. Trying to patch the holes in my armor, reinforce the walls I've built around my heart. The same heart that I froze over, cut out, chained up and buried in rapid succession. Funny, then, how I still don't feel safe. Still not strong. I think I knew better, deep down, even as I made those decisions. It's easy to ignore things and run away. It's harder to let them in, to accept them, and grow as a person. Change is hard. Hurting is hard. And I just wasn't sure I could handle either of those things emotionally. I was scared. I still am. I figured that the only thing left for me was pain, and I would rather inflict it on myself than give someone else the pleasure. They can make the initial wounds, sure, but if they must be widened, if salt must be rubbed in them, then I will do that on me own. I won't give someone else the opportunity to break me.

If only I could learn to bend.

Why can I only be rigid, huddled behind my invisible walls, or else shattered entirely the moment I step out from behind them? Why is it so hard to accept change? I can't really say. I thought I had changed. But in the end I got hurt, then scared, and finally I scurried back behind my walls. But I still hurt, and I was still scared... So I put up more walls. I distanced myself from everyone. Everyone. No one knows how I'm doing or feeling anymore, because I don't trust anyone. I can't. I'm to afraid. Trust leads to betrayal. It's already happened. Too many times, and with people I never should have had to worry about hurting me in that way. But they did, and now I'm here. My emotional state is a labyrinth that even I don't know how to navigate. I can't answer as to how I feel. Just that it's not good. I don't know. I've been running from myself, isolating parts of my personality, and killing them off when they speak to much. I have a hard time laughing. My wit is all but gone, only surfacing for brief moments of cynicism or a barb-tongued deflection when someone pokes around where they shouldn't.

These walls aren't symbolic of strength. They represent a cage. A cage that I chose... Why would I choose this?

My distrust has had me running from everything, hiding myself away behind feigned smiles and offhanded, deliberately evasive replies. "How have you been?" The ask. "Just fine," I reply, because what else can I possibly say? I don't want to elaborate more than that, though the thought of weaving a happy tale has tempted me a few times... But I'd rather not lie more than absolutely necessary. Not only do I find it distasteful, but lies tend to unravel themselves the longer you permit their existence. On the other side of the coin, I have no intentions of letting anyone know what currents are raging beneath my relatively calm surface. Who'd want to sit through all that? No one. And besides, wouldn't that just give them more points to attack when they're done with me? I suppose that's the feeling I've come to settle on lately. That I am expendable. Worthless. The words don't even sting anymore. Mostly because I can't bring myself to deny it. I have no proof otherwise, so what's the point?

Even so, I am lonely.

I chose solitude and isolation. I'm afraid of being hurt, being tossed aside... And being alone. I hate being alone. My thoughts don't make good company. I wish more than anything I had someone to talk to. And the pathetic thing is that I did have people to talk to. But I pushed them all away. I don't talk to them. I'm too afraid. Now it's just me, huddled in one dark, lonely corner of my mind, while a storm of negative thoughts and emotions sweeps through the rest of it. I can almost hear the winds wailing through the labyrinthine walls, the pound of rain against imaginary windows that I boarded up all on my own. Oddly poetic, how a storm that no one can see can still cause such destruction. Poetic... And pitiable. How did I let it come to this?

My choices weren't strength. They were cowardice.

Even so, some feeble defiance screams that it wasn't only my fault. Yes, I made my choices, but I didn't make them randomly. There were reasons. I just wanted to stop getting hurt every time I tried to reach out. I just wanted real answers, definitive truths. And I don't think that's so wrong. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel some resentment about the whole thing now. I tried my absolute best. I really, really did. But my only reward was silence. Over and over and over again. No one should ever have to apologize for the way they feel. And yet, there I was, doing just that and pretending it was fine. It was never fine. Of course it wasn't. It hurt. And that pain is now a tightly coiled spring of resentment, because damn it all that isn't right. I am a coward. I run away when I think I might get hurt. But you know what? At least I don't go around making people feel like their feelings aren't worth shit and shouldn't be expressed. If you feel a certain way, say it, because a feeling's not a choice. It's a truth. And it is valid, no matter what light it's viewed in. You have a right to feel the way you do at any given moment, and that feeling can only be right because it is real. No one can look down on that. Not ever. The choices you make, based on your feelings? Those are fair game. But if you feel a certain way, then that's fine. And you're free to say it. Sometimes you need to say it. And sometimes you need to know that your feelings were at least heard.

Perhaps I was being unreasonable.

Maybe acknowledgement was too much to ask. I don't know. I can't speak for anyone but myself. But I do know that letting it stretch on and on for that length of time was unfair. I'd even go so far as to call it cruel. And I wasn't strong enough to take that kind of cruelty, I guess. Maybe strength never had anything to do with it to begin with. Maybe strength was never necessary and I've been getting it wrong this whole time. Maybe... I hate that word so much right now. I wish I had answers. I wish I knew what to do. I wish I knew what to feel. But I don't have any of those answers, and there's no one around to help me search for them. I'm alone, because I chose to be. I chose my fear, but not because I thought I could conquer it. It was just another type of pain. One that I thought I could control. But I can't.

I always come back to this same contradiction.

I don't want to be alone. But I am terrified to reach out to people. I don't remember how to trust. What does being friendly even mean? How do I do that again? I don't know that I've retained those skills. I thought I wouldn't need them anymore. Haha, wrong again. Always wrong. The feelings of worthlessness don't help either. Who would want to waste their time on me when I so clearly don't bring anything to the table. Why bother trying to help someone you don't know, especially when there's no guarantee of any kind of payoff? What purpose do I serve? What am I supposed to be doing? Where am I supposed to be looking? Where do I go? How do I get there? Is it worth it? Can I even make it without falling back into this fortress I've built around myself? There has to be more than this. I caught a glimpse of it once or twice. Then it was gone. Was I chasing the wrong things? What should I have done differently? Does that even matter now? Does any of this actually matter? More questions. And not a single answer. The only answer I have is that I can't stay here, like this. I have to unpack all this garbage I've been carrying around and leave it behind. Which also means that I'm going to have to move. In one direction or another. I'm going to have to choose a path and walk along it, and hope that it doesn't lead back to this lonely corner of my mind, with the bitter wind and rain and boarded up windows. I'm going to have to take a risk, because if I don't, I might not be able to keep my promise after all. I can't let that happen. So I'm going to try.

I can't take it slow. I'll lose my nerve. I'm going to have to jump with both feet and hope that it's a soft landing at the bottom of whatever pit I launch myself into, and that I don't wind up shattering beyond repair. Wonder where I'll end up. Who knows? Maybe the wind'll take me, now I've dropped all this baggage, and whisk me off somewhere unexpected.

... I'm still running, aren't I? Some habits just don't die. It's okay, I think. Running is better than hiding away in one spot forever, right? Maybe if I run far enough I'll run into something good. Maybe not. I still hate that word. Even so, I can't help but wonder if anything will pursue.

-Lynx

The Pen and The Sword

I shouldn't have done it, but I felt I had to. In an unassuming file folder at the bottom of a pile of binders and notebooks, tucked away in a cubby of my chest of drawers. It's not as well labeled as the other folders I have stored there. There's only a name. In that file is a manila envelope containing all of the letters I was fortunate enough to receive from the first person I trusted entirely. There was always one letter missing though, I remembered as much when I was collecting the loose papers and compiling the envelope. I wondered if I hadn't thrown that last letter away in grief. I didn't. I found it whilst going through a bin about a week ago. Still in its original envelope. I knew what it was the second I saw the handwriting. I told myself not to read it at the time as I still had things to do, closed the bin and stored it in my room. I suppose I could have just tossed it in the file with the rest, I didn't have to read it, but for some reason... Of course I ended up reading it. This letter is the missing link. The final piece anyone would need to solve the riddles I've wrapped myself in, the answer to my contradiction. This letter is clarity. It is grief, and it is sadness and it is the absolute and irreparable collapse of trust. This letter is the reason I shut down, why I locked myself away and swore never to trust anyone again. Not with anything. This letter is what stemmed the belief that the world around me would only see me as expendable; a means to an end and nothing more. When it was no longer convenient, when I had reached a point when I was no longer useful, I would without fail, be cut free. This is what I believed. I was furious, more with myself than anything. I trusted, and that was my choice. It ended poorly. Was I not good enough as a friend? Had I made some mistake that made me seem like I was incapable of understanding and compassion? I wished, and still do, that they would have just talked to me. They didn't have to run. And now, all these years later, here I am. Doing the same exact thing. Fear rules me. I cannot bring myself to trust, despite desperately wanting to. I edge closer, open my mouth to speak honestly, then bite my tongue and shake my head, scampering back into the dark to peer out with cautious eyes. I isolate myself out of a need to feel safe, and that self-imposed loneliness is more bitter than I could ever hope to describe. I don't want to be lonely. But I don't want to trust. I pull in two opposite directions without compromise. As such, I will always backpedal. I will reach out slowly, growing closer to one or two people who can make me forget why I hide, only to speak too openly and frighten myself into running away. I might try to stand my ground, as I did today, but reading that letter re-solidified my resolve. I cannot trust people. That part of me has been crushed and trampled, and at every point that I've tried to trust, that same trust has been stamped out swiftly and without so much as a word. I remember. This feeling, this dark mix of fear and sadness: This is my riddle. And this letter is the key. The killing blow was struck not with a sword, but rather a pen. I was utterly and completely shattered, by someone I had honestly believed would never harm me in such a cruel way. I can't afford to keep forgetting this; doing so has only compounded more trouble. Some people are better off when they keep everything at an arm's length.

Letter to Me

Dearest Lynx,

You are too stubborn for your own good. You could stand to swallow your pride more than once every twenty-three years, as well. I know you hate showing weakness and the prospect of being dependent on anyone or anything makes you visibly cringe (almost as much as you do every time that damned ice cream truck rolls by), but woman... You're being a child. Sometimes it's cute-- the mental image of the cool facade you like to use so much crumbling with a proverbial stomping of the feet and crossing of the arms. Most times though, it's annoying. You know it (mostly because you're writing it, but admitting it too much makes it confusing). Anyway, circular speaking aside: Grow a backbone or something. Seriously. When did you become such a coward, huh? You never used to be afraid of speaking your mind because-- OH NOES-- it might offend someone. I seem to recall actually enjoying being painfully honest just to watch people squirm... Okay, maybe that's not something to be proud of, but honestly, you shouldn't be hiding and whimpering like this. You're such a chicken sometimes! And you can't even answer the simple question of "why." Well, you can, you have a snide, vague, deliberately evasive answer for just about everything, but that's not the point. Your answers suck. That's the point. They're unfounded. Actually, they've kinda already been refuted, so there. News flash sweetie (and really, this shouldn't be a news flash because this is one of your favorite snarky comments): You're smart, but you're not a mind reader. You do not know how every single other person you come into contact with feels. About you, or about anything. You only know what you've been told. Stop overcomplicating things and for shit's sake stop trying to find negative things in neutral or positive situations. I thought we were past that? I mean yeah, you've been screwed by people before. You have been called a pest, and you've certainly been stepped on (you little rug, you). You've been cast aside by a bunch of people who only bother to get in touch with you when they want something from you, and okay, I can see why that would make you stubborn and slightly standoffish.

But again, you don't know. Stop treating everyone like they're gonna bite you the first chance they get. Some might, but I think most won't. You can't judge everyone against one or two or even twenty bad experiences. You're the one who's so determined to leave the past in the past; why are you so keen to let it rule you now?

Oh, and another thing... Your reasonings and your actions? Yeah, you're being kind of an ass. Sure, nobody but you knows why you do (or don't do) what you do, and you could easily brush it off with a lie. You're good at that. But you can't lie to yourself, and you know the way you handle things makes you miserable, so knock it the fish off. Your reasons suck too, by the way. They're excuses because you're scared. Of things that have no solid basis in fact.

You're being petty. And dumb. If things bother you, say so. I'm sure things'd change if you did. But people can't change if they don't know what's bothering you. ... Not that you should demand people change for your convenience, it's more a request for... Ah, you know what I'm talking about; there's no good way to word it. The point I'm trying to make here is this: You can't really expect every person you meet to hurt or secretly disdain you because one or two people may have before... Even if it was more than one or two people, that beside the point. If you have questions, ask them. If you have qualms, assert yourself and see if you can't fix them. If these people are your friends as they claim to be, they'd probably prefer you do that than be stubborn and petty and miserable and CHICKEN. >.> And if not... Well then maybe it's time to find some better friends.

Isn't this nice, being all honest and stuff? (Yes, it's also disconcerting that you can only ever seem to make sense of yourself while addressing yourself as someone else... We need to work on your/our social skills...)

Go find that courage you had before you decided you were afraid of offending the people that hurt you.

"This is the time for chasing my desires. What's in my heart is true. And if my dreams set everything on fire, then I would still belong to you." --Amaranthe "True"

Sometimes

Sometimes I pull the blinds, turn the lights off and light a candle. I'm just too groggy to face the daylight.

Sometimes I put the mask back on. I take it right back off though. It's too heavy for me now.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to let my walls crumble. Then I remember, and close them up tight.

Sometimes I think I feel too much. I don't mind.

Sometimes I catch myself humming. I wonder if anyone can hear me. I hope I'm not tone-deaf.

Sometimes I fall asleep sitting up, with my knitting still in my hands. The sound of the breeze through the palm trees is soothing.

Sometimes I smile at myself in the mirror, just to make sure I still remember how. I do, but it's not great.

Sometimes I know what I'm doing.

Sometimes I don't.

Sometimes I try to be sensible, but no one listens.

Sometimes I speak nonsense, and suddenly everyone's listening. And judging.

Sometimes I think I'm being myself. Then I realize I'm only mimicking someone else.

Sometimes I really am just myself. Most people ignore it and continue on like it's still the past.

Sometimes I feel like a child. Everything frightens me, and I just want to hide.

Sometimes I do hide. After a while, life doesn't seem so scary and I crawl out of my hiding place.

Sometimes I really want to laugh but can't find anything funny. I laugh anyway.

Sometimes I feel the weight of all my insecurities. I don't mean to be a pest.

Sometimes I don't mind that I'm as much of a child as I am inside. I wish more people could know it.

And sometimes, even if it does seem childish, I just really, really want to be held.

Right now, I want to offer the world a plate of warm, freshly baked cookies. I am happy.

Lynx

I'm Torn

On one hand, I'm so exhausted that I just want to be alone. I'm to tired to think about anything, let alone the habits of the people around me. I can't read minds at the best of times, let alone when I can almost keep my eyes open. I'm tired of trying to be "the leader" and initiate interaction. It's not my forte anyway, but now I feel like I'd just be a pest. What's more is I'm too tired to state that plainly. I don't have the energy for any kind of confrontation.

And then I just want to be allowed to lay down for a second and let someone else "be the leader." Let someone else start the conversations. Let someone else do the thinking. In that way, I don't want to be alone at all. I don't even know if I make sense right now, I'm so tired.

I've done basically nothing but sleep all day, and I feel, honestly, like I've been hit with something very heavy. The fibromyalgia is flaring up on me and kicking my ass. Everything's foggy, and I can almost make sense of my thoughts. This is the third time I've started this post, and I STILL don't know what I'm trying to say.

Two thoughts.

"Even when I win, I lose."
"Life is not a box of chocolates. Life is an endless game of whack-a-mole."

This Day

It wasn't a good one. Still isn't. I've made my choices, and I stand by them. But... All I can think of now is how many of my past choices have lead to the pain of others. I carry a lot of guilt. Maybe I deserve it, maybe I don't. But I carry it regardless. I've accepted it all; these things I was and am, at least in part, responsible for. I tell the truth when I say I've accepted it, but I lie when I say I've moved past it.

I haven't. I can't.

The more good things I remember about my father,the more I understand about the man he was and the man he became, the easier it is to forgive him. But forgiving myself? That is nearly impossible at this point. They say hindsight is 20/20, and they're certainly right. I have so much regret. I said so many awful things. I allowed myself to be blinded by my negative feelings and things spiraled out of control. He's gone now. And that's my fault. Yes, there was his failing health, and yes, he chose to stop taking his medications. But that was my fault too. If I'd been a better daughter, maybe he would've had something to hold on for. Maybe he would have fought. Maybe he'd still be here. How many people did I rob? How many good moments will never happen now, because of me? And what right do I have to move past it? I shouldn't. What I did, what I said...Who I was. It was all horrible. Selfish, and shortsighted. I was so afraid to be vulnerable, and that fear ended up destroying everything around me.

What happened to my mother is my fault as well. Directly. I should have watched her more carefully. I should have kept myself in better control. This time, I was vulnerable, and I let it show. And the vulnerability nearly destroyed my world further. It was sheer luck that my mother survived. It was my fault she was endangered in the first place. I'll probably never be able to forgive myself and move past that, either.

And now... Now she's wondering if she made the right decision to move. I don't know what to say, or what to do. Her depression is coming back, and coming back strongly.

I'd be a fool if I said that mine wasn't returning in some form as well. I'll never say it beyond here though. I can't. The people around me, what precious few I have, need me to be strong, not vulnerable. But I know I can't just not feel either; that doesn't work. I need to make a decision, and once again, I don't know what's right.

The guilt over what happened, and the indecision and fear over what could...  It's enough to make me feel physically sick. I'm so tired lately. Everything's sore and achy, and I feel ill. I sleep for too long, but I don't rest. I get terrible headaches and my whole being just hurts. I want to just look away, even for a few moments, but I could never do that. I owe too many too much.
I'd hope for someone to lean on, but my burdens are too heavy. These things shouldn't be shared between people; it's dangerous. Besides that, I don't know how to rely on others, I don't know how to ask for help or even comfort. My guilt won't let me be comforted anyway. All of what I feel now is a direct product of my past actions. I don't deserve to be comforted. I have to handle whatever's on its way on my own. It's always been like that. It's the only way I know how to protect the people I care about.

So if I pull away for a time, if I put my walls back up and hide away... It's not because I don't care or don't want to spend time with my dear ones. It's the opposite. I hate doing it, but it's the only way I know how to protect them from what I feel. I don't want to drag anyone else into my troubles, I don't want anyone else to try to help bear my guilt. It's too much to put on people who don't deserve it.

I'll get through it. I always do. But I can't take anyone with me for fear of losing them along the way. I can face myself and my guilt, and I can get my mother back on the right path, but I'll have to do it alone. It's the only way I can be honest with myself. If there was someone else there, I'd never be able to take these walls down, and I'll end up exactly where I started all those years ago.

I'm ready. It'll be okay. I know what needs to be done, and I know I can do it. I won't let things fall apart a second time. No one's breaking. No one's dying. There won't be anything to be guilty for. It'll be okay.

"There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief."
                                                                                          --Aeschylus

Lynx

Cynicism, Cowardice, and the Three Step Solution to My Problem

“Life is such unutterable hell, solely because it is sometimes beautiful. If we could only be miserable all the time, if there could be no such things as love or beauty or faith or hope, if I could be absolutely certain that my love would never be returned: how much more simple life would be. One could plod through the Siberian salt mines of existence without being bothered about happiness.” 
― T.H. White, Alfred Hitchcock Presents: Stories That Scared Even Me

Precisely. Life would be so much easier, so much simpler, if I just didn't have to worry about these things. But, you know what? Life's not easy. Life's not simple. No matter how much I wish I didn't have to feel or see the beautiful things, no matter how much I'd rather just duck my head and stick to the things I know I can accomplish... I wake up in the morning, and Life reminds me, "Hey. You're human. You're gonna feel. You're gonna fear. Because you're human. And you're alive. So what're you gonna do about it?"

Honestly, I don't know. I don't have the slightest idea, because there's no guide book, no manual for this. No one's ever written a book on "how to live the right way" or "how to feel properly"... Because everyone's different.. That, or it's just never been done. The prideful part of me always screams at me to buck up and be brave. Be true. This part of me is reckless, clamoring to just go for it, just take the risk and see what happens. Another part of me suggests caution. Caution then mutates into hesitation, which gives way to doubt and the cycle continues. Doubt and hesitate, doubt and hesitate.

A third part of me just laughs and says, "Lynx. You're screwed. Run for it."

Sometimes I think the coward in me is the smartest side of myself. And also the bravest. Sometimes, I feel like an act of cowardice, running away, takes more grit and bravery than sticking around to see what happens. Sometimes it's easier to say, "Heeey, I'm on a roll, let's bet again and maybe I'll win," than it is to say, "Heey, I'm on a roll, but momentum only lasts so long." Er. Do I have that backwards? Because a lot of people would say, "Nothing wagered, nothing gained." I think they forget the other side of that coin: "Too much wagered, too much lost."

There are, I suppose, two different kinds of bravery. The first is the kind that people typically recognize; the kind that sticks it out and takes the risk and doesn't back down. The second is the quiet kind. This bravery stays quiet and walks away, having decided that it's better to not know at all than to suffer. I don't know which one is smarter. Or if they're both moronic. I don't know a lot of things. But I do know that I'm terrified.

If I jump, if I decide to let go and fall... How hard will I hit if there's nothing there to catch me?
If I run, if I say "fucking screw it"... How much time will I waste contemplating the phrase "what if"?
And if I do nothing... How long until I lose the rest of my sanity, do something stupid, and end up with less than I started with?

I know me. I'm not confident with much. I'm really not confident with feelings. I can sort out other people no problem, but me... My brain and my heart are too interconnected in this jumbled mess for me to even begin to make sense of it all. It's all tangled together in this giant, messy knot.

So what do I do? I think. I think hard. What am I wishing for? Is it realistic?

That always gets me. Is it realistic? Well I don't bloody know, do I? If I did, there wouldn't be a problem, because if it was realistic, I'd have gone for it already; and if it wasn't, well that'd be the end of it!

And then I have an "Aha!" moment. Transference. Displacement. Mental mutation. That last one sounds a bit creepy, but it's also the best description of the three. This is my Three Step Solution to Heartsickness Which May or May Not Be Just Another Form of Running Like Hell.

Step One: Admit it.
Check.
Step Two: Express it.
Twelve line poem? Check.
Step Three: Turn it into something else.
This one takes time and diligence, and is also where the "running like hell" bit comes in. The last person I loved, I still love. But not in that way. Practice lying to yourself in the mirror and remember to smile (smiling makes it hurt less). Be decisive. Whenever the thought, "but what if" enters your mind, snuff it out. Say, "No. This is how it is."

Keep. Your. Distance. It's hard to not like people when they're always charming you, so make yourself tougher to charm.


.... I just came to the awkward realization that I never take my own advice, especially when it sucks. What kind of sick masochist is going to tolerate a giant "WHAT IF" hanging over their head for an indefinite amount of time? And if, as it so often goes, this person is a friend and you distance yourself from them... What does that say of you, where the friendship is concerned?

THE REAL STEP THREE: ??? I don't bloody know. Choose something, and stand by your decision.
I have written all of this and am no closer to an answer than I was an hour ago. I may have even just confused myself more.
Haha. Only me.

I have become an expert in talking myself in circles.

Cheers,

Lynx