Finally ungrounded, not any more clear-headed, or productive, or healthy, or stable, or better than I was before. It’s upsetting. To make things more disappointing, my weekend didn’t start with the bang I’d intended. I’m scared to make bangs now. I know the consequences.

My compulsive desire to accept misery persists, and it is no good. Every awkward situation, every soul-crushing situation is just an opportunity to tell a story or make a joke. And I guess I have to advocate for my wellbeing more. With my parents, with boys, with my friends, with my teachers, with myself. I have to realize that being miserable is only interesting, or funny, or character-building in the past tense. Misery can not be the principle by which I live my life.

I cut my hair this weekend. The dead ends are gone and now I have an undercut. I feel the healthy curls and the buzzed nape of my neck. It feels new. It feels a little bit like change. ♦