Everyone wants an Argentina, a place where the slate is wiped clean. But the truth is Argentina, is just Argentina. No matter where we go we take ourselves and our damage, with us. So is home the place we run to, or is it the place we run from? Only to hide out in place where we’re accepted, unconditionally, places that feel more like home to us. Because we can finally be who we are…
I’ll never forget how the depression and loneliness felt good and bad at the same time. Still does.
LIFE HACK: disguise your nervous breakdown as a series of jokes
"how are you?"
"no i don’t know, that’s why i asked."