Even though we're re-creating some of what should have happend Thursday morning I can't help but the in the worst mood. I'm trying to stop, to rise above, to be better, to be the (perfect, charming, witty) person I know (trained) myself to be. I get to put on my Scarlett face, the perfect, pretty, how could anything be wrong face. I've been hiding behind my laptop and the online version of the New York Times all morning. Coffee with my dad, which I usually enjoy has come to nothing, because I realize that my parents don't want to really know anything about me. I'm normally o.k. with just letting things slide, but I'm starting to figure out that the more that gets unsaid, the more I have to live with the fact that even though I've come out and it's supposed to make things easier, really it would be easier just to still be hiding, because I can't even tell them I went dancing or say something like "This guy I know..." without them thinking I'm fucking my way through half the Metroplex. Normally I can take this with a grain of salt, but for some reason my armor isn't working, there are chinks, and I must have been hit with something because I can't breathe.
I'm ready to go back to my life. Stranger in my own family. Drowning...
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