Well it was kinda inevitable, I guess. But finally being confronted with it had made it impossible to deny.
On the one hand it's like coming home, because I've spent so much of my life feeling this way.
On the other hand, well... it's hard not to think: "so here's to another seven years..."
My instinct is to run.
My other instinct is to tell him.
Maybe tell him then run?
I'm so fucking lost, I have no idea what I'm doing beyond the end of next month.
I want that to make me reckless but mostly it's just making me terrified.