I'm reading a book and it is making me so happy. Just me in a comfortable cocoon of blankets and pillows and duvets in my bed, surrounded by fairy lights and candles and my stuffed animal friends, with a book I can't put down. I'm thinking, I have so many books to read and it's Christmas break I can do whatever I want I can just stay here and read and I can read this book and finish it and it will make me happy even if it makes me sad because that's how books are.

So why do I go on tumblr and Facebook and stumble over real life reminders that make my stomach churn and my self-loathing pop up out of seemingly nowhere a brick wall in front of me and my throat feels like throats do when you're about to cry? I know it happens and I do it to myself and I wish I had never seen read heard done whatever

Blaming someone else is such an easy thing to do but sometimes it's not an option. God I wish it was an option. Then I could give myself the right to feel this way. Maybe it would be easier to forgive, too.