I hate goodbyes.

I’ve had friends leave several times in the past, some really good friends, and each time it happened, I’d just spiral into what I think now to have been just very shallow depression, but depression, nonetheless. I’d take to my journal, or to whoever was unlucky enough to tell me they’d listen, until the feeling was gone.

I read stories about people leaving (whether willfully or not), about being left behind, and they tug at my heartstrings. Recently, one of my closest friends left for good. Working abroad, living abroad. I’m happy for him, happy to see him succeed and reach his dreams, but it tore me apart.

I hate the feeling of being left behind. They’re moving on to what I can only assume to be better lives, and I’m… just here. Stuck in their past. They continue growing there, I continue growing here, and we just continue growing apart. It came to a point where I told myself that one day, I’d be the one to do the leaving. I’d be the one to say goodbye and make them feel miserable.

It’s a terribly thought, based on a very terrible feeling, but somehow, I don’t think that resolve’s completely gone. How many hiatuses have I gone through on this blog? Three? Four? I get so much pleasure from taking time off from something as routine as Tumblr partially because I’m doing the leaving. I get to leave people behind, and it makes the sick little teenager in me happy. I play the work card because it’s true, and it’s convenient, but I have this theory in my head that if I didn’t have that underlying need to leave and make people feel miserable, I’d probably keep blogging despite my work schedule.

This makes me seem like a very terrible, unlikeable person, but besides this (and a couple other things), I’m a really nice boy. Ask my friends :)