Friday. Weekends will no longer be war zones. 

I have my shoot early this morning, and I am unable to sleep, nor am I able to write because I am obviously sleepy and tired. So my brain is kind of done.

I did get that haircut—a little dramatic, but I love it. 

Something I hated about yesterday was having to explain to certain people why he’s no longer in my life. I wish I had a nicer explanation that didn’t hurt me every time I spelled it out. I just had to walk away, saying I don’t want to talk about it anymore. 

I can’t explain to people why he couldn’t love me because I don’t know it myself. And if I start wondering, it will absolutely wreck me, and I can’t afford that. Every time I think of him, I think of murders; that is the most disturbing thing that ever comes to my mind and terrifies me, but only something as strong would knock him out of my head. So I do what I do.

I would really like to sit and really sink in the pain and the aftermath of it, but I think I’d just be too vulnerable if I did that, and maybe it’s too soon. 

In all my years of dating and relationships, this is the most worthless a man has ever made me feel. I’m very aware of it; it doesn’t break my heart to think of it that way; it’s just what it is. 

He left me, proving how typical every man is. People always fall in love with the idea of me, and my reality is always too much. They get caught up in it at first; they try, but then they realize, nah, not for me. And there I go, disposed. 

It hurts to write these. It hurts knowing people would read this and maybe think, poor girl. Poor girl indeed. 

I will be fine. I know.