And I wore those boots with high heels and red lipstick, and I couldn't shake my social anxiety that was closing in on me like a fungus. I can't be too tall I can't stand out too much I can't I can't I don't deserve I don't deserve. And then I stomped on it, and I chose to embrace my height and my lips standing out like a sore thumb. And I felt like more of a woman; a woman with curves and 6 feet tall in heels. And for the first time in all these months I don't need to cling to a hope of his this or his that or my phone ringing 949 because it doesn't even matter anymore. I refuse to live for a delusion. I am me and I can stay home on a Friday night and do homework and be comfortable in who I am. And I don't need to fake for you guys anymore. If I don't call it's because you aren't my priority. And I'm drawing boundaries and I'm staying inside of them and I'm wearing heels when I go out and letting myself stay in and not needing to be known and not needing to know.
Maybe this journey of figuring out who the hell I am is actually taking me somewhere. And teaching me something. And maybe I am getting a little bit closer.