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A dear friend of mine spent the night on his way through town and left this morning. I adore this person and spending time with this person, something I rarely have the chance to do. Yet, when he left this morning it felt like I’d been holding my breath since waking up. I felt myself exhale at his departure and it was like I could breathe again. I had my day back. To do absolutely nothing with.

My friend called me about twenty minutes later to invite me to tag along on his last stop before he left town and I passed. I had come back from walking my dog, had replaced my jeans with pajama bottoms and was boiling water for the french press. I was prepping for my morning alone and I didn’t want to let it go. I wanted to want to let it go. I was standing in my living room, phone in hand, an invitation extended to me to spend time with people who care about me and when I chose to stay in my apartment with my coffee, pajamas and internet television, I hated myself. Why? Why can’t I be someone who says yes to such a nice invitation easily, with excitement, joy and eagerness? Why when faced with something so lovely do I feel like it would inflict actual physical pain on me if I forced myself into my car to go? Why do I choose this non-life time and time again and then spend it despising myself for it?

In my mind, a Sunday spent with friends enjoying each others’ company is always a better choice than holing up in one’s apartment watching Dawson’s Creek on Netflix. Yet I turned down the former so I could do the later. I am trying here. I am trying to understand. I am trying to forego my own judgments about myself and just allow myself to be where I am, but in the not judging thing I am failing miserably.

I wanted to stay home today alone. Knowing that I could let me feel like I could breathe. That much I know to be true.