Is una semana enough?

Nothing is going to make things better. Ryan told me about his new post today, and halfway through, I could feel the backs of my eyes burning hot because after a week or more, my tears were on the verge of spilling out into the open and there was so much underlying emotion in his words. Fortunately, I had my periodic table right in front of me, so I couldn't cry because it would look really bad if it were wet. Actually, it looks bad enough already.
Some things really hurt me this week, as though I was repeatedly and crudely stabbing myself in the chest.
The annual piano recital is next Sunday, but I'm going to have to call my teacher and tell her I can't go. Big deal- it's the least of my worries. Yes, I just said that about something related to the piano. Nothing, not even the one hobby your parents allow you to do, or the one fun thing they will not ban, can make you feel better after self-inflicted pain. Not the physical kind, but it's worse that way. Shouldn't we be feeling happier after this pain because of the reason why it happened? Yes, we should. But in the long run, I feel like I'm going to keep pretending everything is alright until I go jump off a cliff or something. If I were braver, then that's what I would need right now. A nice, dangerous precipice.