Matsch's Law : It's better to have a horrible ending than to have horrors without end.
I’ve just been telling myself that a limited 2 good years is better than the prospect of endless years in misery. I recall Wellington, how I hated my job, and how everything came apart at the seams, ending with my exile to San Francisco, and how I promised myself I would never return to Wellington. The very idea of having to return is just too much for me to dwell on now. Thinking of it makes me sick.
Wellington used to be a place I was proud of, a place I started to set my roots in. Now, every time I go back there, the memories only haunt me. All the “what-could-have-been”s hurt. It turns out to be the way I felt when I left Toronto. How much even reading or hearing the name of the city (I used to love) made me sick. The only difference between having to leave Toronto and having to leave Wellington is that with the latter case, it was my fault. And that wound is still raw and bleeding.
I went to see V earlier today.