Crumpled up in a mess on your bed. Is this how you saw yourself seven months ago? Seven months ago when you left your home, your friends, and practically everything you loved behind? Is this what you made your sacrifices for? To be a broken man, resigned to fail and run home, scraping at a chance for better footing.

You probably feel hopeless. You probably feel pathetic.

Stand up.

You didn’t say goodbye to all those people, because you knew you’d be crawling back to them in a year’s time.

Stand up.

You know you’re meant for better things than this sad state you’re in.

So although you feel hopeless.

Stand up.

Although it’s as if you’ve got no one to lean on but yourself, and you think to  yourself every night: “Why the fuck am I here?”

Stand up.

And even though you just want to quit this act, and just go the fuck back to California, where you’re so sure everything will go back the way they were, and things would be easier.

Stand.

The.

Fuck.

Up.

When did easy ever equate to being the right thing to do? When was it okay to give up on your hopes and dreams just because it doesn’t seem like anyone but yourself wants it? So get the fuck out there, and do what you need to do. It shouldn’t even be a question.