There’s no amount of alcohol, cigarettes, food, or trips that can help you cure an anxious and a broken heart. It only makes you forget for a brief moment, but it doesn’t necessarily make you stronger. You think you are, but you’re not. It’s all basically illusive, or suggestive.
Because in the end, all you can do is to just suck it up. Not avoiding the feeling that you should feel, the thought that you should think about, and just let the time helps you… accept, that no matter how well you think you’ve ruled out your life, how well you treat other people, how careful you live, how much love you give… you can’t control what’s gonna hurt you.
And the only thing I can do for now is to write about it. My last resort.