February 12th I was as vulnerable as one person can be. I was also the happiest if ever been and believed that my life was on track to start falling into place. I wish I was still that person- I had just self published my first novel that took six and half years to complete. It was a massive project I had taken on at 15 that story saved my life when I first fell into a depressive black hole that almost killed me. Self publishing was pretty much the equivalent to giving birth and I’m not exaggerating. I was exhausted and vulnerable still trying to catch up with everything. I knew I had to have a book party and was going to have one with friends and a few cousins. I had this paranoid thought in my head that no one was going to show up but that’s such a terrible thing I dismissed it thinking who would actually do that to someone? Turns out I had every reason to be paranoid because no one showed up. I sat at the restaurant at a table for 9 with wait staff looking at me taking up these tables for no one. No message, no reason just silence as one of my worst fears came true again. I’d been burned before pretty much everyone I’d ever know had burned me one way or another. This incident ripped open my abandonment and trust issues and put them on steroids. I’m less forgiving and passive, my guard is like titanium because I refuse to rely or trust anyone. The idea of any kind of party gives me a panic attack. I already had a strong dislike for February for another traumatic event and now I really hate it after the incident. It’s still burns even a year later