I opened up a bottle of wine tonight. I wanted to drink the whole thing but I stopped at one glass.
They say you should write your feelings down to stave off depression. Well I've been doing this my whole life. My first journal was a story about a mouse. I wanted to be a writer. I have journals and journals full of thoughts and yet I feel the same.
I worry that every time I transpose the letters "a" and "i" in the word "said" that I am dyslexic.
I worry that my grandparents will die and it will send me over the edge and I will fall into a deeper sadness--and I won't be able to come back out. I feel like I'm teetering on the edge sometimes.
I want to be a flight attendant.