it must have been longer than merely 24 hours.
yesterday i woke up feeling somewhat sick but i went to school anyway. something someone said, a very insignificant, little thing, made me depressed. so i bailed out. that's all i've been good at the past few months.. leaving when things get rough. i went home, using my quasi-illness as an excuse, and i slept/cried for 2 1/2 hours before going to work.
(but was it really only 150 minutes? it seemed like so much more. every emotion and every detail of my life--past, future, present--was packed into those precious moments spent alone)
to work, to be yelled at by impatient, uncarring customers who haven't the slightest idea what it takes to get them that prozac they need so desperately.
home again, trying to sleep, but only did so fitfully during the night. so hard to silence your mind when the universe is so loud..
and i thought perhaps it was because i never could share my feelings that no one seemed to care. but, what now? after the emotional whoring and the pain what do i receive but averted gazes and superficial words?
it won't be like this forever, i saw that in those 2 1/2 hours. but i know it can seem like forever.. and that's what i've felt during the past so-called 24 hours.