And the Best Supporting Actress award goes to...

I hate feeling secondary in my own life.

I hate that I've become unimportant in my own story.

It sounds so stupid and selfish and so woe is me. I've become a Best Supporting Actress in my own life. I don't even feel like a Meryl Streep; more like a Tilda Swinton, only without thee possibility of a win because my George Clooney isn't George Clooney, more like Quentin Tarantino minus the luck and the ugly mouth.

I hate that I've let others consume me and push me aside, that t.ie let other people and other things take precedence over me and what helps to make me grow. I hate that I have to find myself amongst a sea of everyone else.

Maybe when I get past the anger I'll be able to find the positive, the siIver linings. Like how I will definitely come out of this rut a better, stronger person. Like how I will have learned to (finally) put myself first, make myself a priority while still balancing the people and situations I find myself in. And maybe I'll be able to love myself a little more, too.

Or I can just drown myself in weed and alcohol until I don't give damn a anymore.