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So, I miss writing. I miss this outlet, having an audience, feeling like my life was worth the effort involved in getting it down on the page. But these days are just different. I used to have adventures – I used to be the girl you could laugh with, the girl you could find yourself rooting for. A proverbial Alice in the wonderland of the LES. And now? I just don’t know. The magic is gone. The dark exciting corners have been illuminated with track lighting, shiny new hotels and condos have rendered this once familiar landscape barely recognizable. All of this hope I’ve been clinging to for all of these years, I beginning to honestly wonder – have I just been kidding myself? What if this is all there is? It’s not terrible, it just IS. This terrible never ending stretch of sameness that I cannot seem to shake… not by relocating, not by changing jobs, not by spending a week on a white sandy beach. And it’s finally hit me – it’s because it’s ME. I am so fucking broken that I’m not even trying anymore. I focus on the details to ignore the big picture, I devour books, I drag myself out to shows, but I’m closed off. I refuse to make new friends, or meet new people. It’s like I fell, crumpled to the ground two years ago and haven’t managed to move since. Maybe I’m punishing myself for perceived sins; maybe I’m protecting myself from the possibility of future pain. All I know is that I’m numb, and tired, and BITTER. I hate who I've become, I HATE how I’ve been acting to people I care about. I cannot stop arguing. I take every comment as an attack. I am folding deeper and deeper into myself and I don’t know how to stop it. And yet I’m perfectly functional. I am doing better than ever professionally speaking. I can smile and be delightful and enjoy simple social conversation. My life is void of drama apart from the screaming matches I launch in my head. “It boils down to apathy” that’s from that Fray song, right? I am apathetic. And a damn good actress. And perpetually feeling sorry for myself and then disgusted with myself for indulging in such bouts of self-pity when there are people with REAL problems on their hands – which I would be happy to care about, if only I weren’t so damned apathetic. My life is passing me by, and I’m not recording it because it’s not worth remembering – even to me. Everything and everyone I know seems to have moved on, and even though I know I’ve changed, I still feel, well, left behind. But what can I do? I just keep moving forward, waiting for something to shake me up again and hope this time the pieces get put back together right...