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I just realized that yesterday made nine months since my last breakup. That means eight months since she tried to mind-fuck me. That means eight months since she turned everyone I thought I could count on against me. That's a handful of death threats and at least one attempt to carry through.

That's also nine months of paranoid seclusion broken only by a handful of excursions with some new friends. That's nine months of not letting anyone get close to me--either emotionally or physically.

Oddly, today is the first day I've felt really alone. I can't recall when I've felt so absolutely tired and...I don't know how to put it. It's a rare thing that my vocabulary doesn't have a word for it.

All things are as they must be.