Going Away Parties Are the Worst

I capitalized all the words in my title.  It's a title and a sentence so get over it.

Before you ask (even though you've already thought it) yeah, I'm in a bad mood right now.  I'm actually blogging because I had this blog thought before the day went to hell.  Not the point of this post, moving on.

Last night I had a going away shin-dig of sorts.  It wasn't big and it wasn't a huge deal, but I'm leaving my life here presumably forever and I kind of wanted to see some people before I went.  It was by no means a perfect party.  Like, there was the awkward beginning part when people showed up and I didn't even know their names and that was strange, but whatevs.  Then it got a little later and became the best part of the week.  People from my old ward showed up (and Preston hung around and he's one of the few people from this ward that I like to tolerate even a little).  I was reminded that people liked my personality sometimes.  It was cool.

Funny but unrelated picture to break up the monotony of text. 

And then an interesting thing happened.  Someone mentioned that I had disappeared.  That it had been about a year since I hung out with any of them or went to a movie night or whatever.  It's true.  Sure I left the ward, but this is Provo and I live three blocks away.  I started thinking and consciously realized how massively depressed I've been for almost a year.  It's not cool to talk about mental illness/issues in public, but I'm doing it.  I'm not saying nothing good happened to me over the past year or that I never had moments of gladness (my mom surprised me for my birthday, remember? And I loved my job so there's that.), but overall it's been kind of a shit-hole of a year.  Probably part of me realized that which is why I'm headed home to Virginia...but that's a different story.

More lulz.

I just wanted to take this time and moment to thank those people who still showed up at my going away party even though I have been horribly absent for a year.  It's not that I didn't like you, I just didn't like anyone or something.  I don't know how it works because I haven't worked it through all the way yet.  But I wasn't forgotten.  A year later, these people still thought enough of me to come spend a few hours and eat my food (I love when people eat my food.  It's my one talent) and laugh with me. Big fat sappy thanks to all of you.  Especially the few of you who made it extra hard to leave.  Which is where the title of this post comes from.  Now I remember that I love these people and still have to leave them anyway.  Dammit.