August 12, 2009


The more that I think about it, the more ironic it becomes that I've started running this summer. It's not necessarily ironic in the haha that's funny kind of way. It's more of an I run away from everything but this time I can't so I'm actually physically running kind of way. I have a history of running away when things get tough. I've decided more than once that it was easier to stop talking to someone than to work through things with them. I run away from difficult situations. I run from awkward situations. I always run away. And this time, I would love to run away more than anything else. But I can't. Because that would mean idea that I am not particularly fond of. I'm finally content with where I am (see this post) and I hate the thought of giving it all up because of it. This is one thing that I can't run away from. It's making me physically sick to think about what will happen when the encounter actually occurs. I can't breathe. I get nauseous. I want to run away more than anything else. But running away this time would mean giving up everything else. So I run. Physically run. This summer, I started running. This summer, when it became apparent to me that I would have to face one of the most difficult challenges thus far, I started running. My feet pound on the treadmill. I can't run fast enough to get away from the thoughts swirling in my mind. I run fast but go nowhere. I cant run away, and so I run. Ironic.

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