Come on, come out.

What happened to the girl we used to know? The girl who wouldn't give up what she believed to be the right thing to do? Good questions. I'm 3 months in and can't think about any of this without choking on tears.

For the first time in a long time I've been absolutely unsure about too many things. I feel hope drain. The lameness, the work, being here and not being able to fulfill the reasons why I came. Not speaking up, afraid of what will happen, feeling horrible for not doing so.

I've never not been in a happy space. A2. Washington. South Africa. I've stumbled because I don't know how to handle people who are so self-consumed. Welcome to the real world. I know it's not fair, I never asked for it to be fair. I simply want basic human decency. It's little to ask for. And to go? As much as I want to leave these psychological confines I won't unless I absolutely have to. Stubborn. Or maybe just because I know I won't ever be back, I won't ever do this to myself again. It's useless to spend my time around people who are unhappy. I can make those choices, I need to make those choices.

Why? Life is short. It keeps coming back to me. Forget December, 12 days 'till Christmas. No snow, no sweaters. You never write me letters. I hope you didn't wear my yellow shirt. Promiscuous. Symbolic. Would you have realized? Just friendship. Hmm. But it's short. Stab wounds. Kicked in the head (for the first time). A crack above my right temple, wounded. Bruised. It hurts to eat, sleep.

I'm trying. Snap out of this. 5 days, seems so long. Is this the way it's always going to be? 3 more months. Will Rowan get better? 90 days.

It just doesn't feel like Christmas.