I could take you through the seven stages of grief, or quote other articles detailing how to appropriately recover from the death of your beloved character; but you've heard those silly notations before. Instead, I'll show you how I survive the loss of my precious cinnamon rolls and force my self to continue with life.
I spent most of my senior year in high school losing myself and finding myself again and again. I found happiness in people that would only ever leave me disappointed and empty. That summer I filled the emptiness with alcohol and the pain with ibuprofen. Sometimes, I even mixed the two together to stop the crippling agony in my chest. Even now, in college, I'm doing the same thing. It’s become a mindless repetition, because now they are my crutch. I kiss the boys with more issues than Vogue and fall for the unattainable ones. Most of my friends don't stick around, and the ones that do I push away for fear they will never stay. No one in my life ever has.