This has quite possibly been the worst month of my life.

Jan. 2, 2014: My grandmother, at the age of 74, dies from congestive heart failure.

Jan. 6, 2014: I return to school. Four days later, I board a plane for the funeral.

Jan. 14, 2014: I contract a flu-like virus that debilitates me for a week.

Jan. 31, 2014: The man I thought I was having a successful future with breaks my heart and says that I’m more committed to our relationship than he is. Newly single after little over 2 months.

February comes with a numbness that is bolstered with copious amounts of alcohol and angst.


I think that I’m ready for a break. I want so badly to get my life together and read my bible and get things together, but something is laying on my chest like an anvil. I don’t know why I don’t want to. I know my only relief will come from there. Alcohol isn’t the answer. It’s never the answer. More often than not, it’s the problem. I just want to curl up in a ball and not talk to anyone. I want to leave and go on a sabbatical somewhere where people will forget I ever dated Andrew. I feel like it was over so fast that it didn’t even happen. Is that bad? I thought I was in love with him, but apparently not. Or maybe my grief is so deep that I forgot how to care.

Darkness falls, and the night’s begun. A river of light glows as bright as the sun.


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