Fine. Enough drama already. It's a shame that something had to slap me on the cheek just to wake me from this awful torpor. There's nothing to be sad about. There are a lot of things to fear. But that never justifies retreat. And awful self-pity just need some Foucault-inspired rationalization techniques. Eyelaavet!
I have to prove that I can do this, else I'd be sorry for the rest of my life. I know this is really the beginning of my story. I'm glad I can say this time that it'll be my story, despite all hardships this decision would certainly entail. Drama, drama, etc. The point is I know where I want to go. The awful things that seem to distract/obstruct me pales beside this amazing certainty.
I need more things to energize me, to make me want this more, to not let everything essential slip away. I don't need drama- or, better, I need to reread F's words again. I swear, anti-depressant.
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