Right now. Well, right now, I feel eight-years-old. Like a selfish, selfish eight-year-old. When you are 24, you're not supposed to feel hurt about being left behind, right? You're not supposed to be wounded by friends canceling plans, only to find out they just made other ones. Which you get invited to, but still. It was supposed to be some downtime. Some 'us' time. This is stupid.
Los Angeles, while a fairly decent city for gallivanting about when you have company, is a pretty significant downer when you're on your own. Ok, not totally true. I had a rather lovely date night with myself two nights ago. Very lovely, actually. Regardless, nights when I am left in my apartment, either because I was not invited or because I chose to passive aggressively not go out, it's... hard. I know it's winter. Winter never helps. But it never felt like this in New York. This is a uniquely LA thing, this childishness. I wish it would stop.
Especially as it has made me start a blog in an effort to control the down-ness that's going on in my head right now. Right now. I truly, honestly want it to stop. I know a doctor might help, I know meds might help, but I also know that, like everything else, this too shall pass. With winter's passing, my depression will pass. That much, I know.
