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If it's not one thing, don't you know it's another

I started the day off by Instagram stalking some old school mates while lying in bed, the heated blanket still kicking, and the morning sun kissing my forehead. Many whose last name I could actually remember I couldn't find. Perhaps they're married and have a different last name, or they're amongst the few millenials without social media, or go by a different name and don't want to be found. One I did find was particularly triggering. I could feel my body filling up with shame, worthlessness, and insecurity. Then, my body began to replace the dreadful sensation with an even worse sense of false confidence, pity, and egocentrism. In a matter of only a few seconds, my body was fighting itself in the anti-presence of someone I used to be very good friends with in 2nd grade, I had a massive crush on in 4th grade, and began to loathe as we drifted apart and became different people throughout middle and highschool. Mostly because this person would go on to insult me ceaselessly via social media long after highschool graduation. This isn't true, but it feels true. I was the insulter, and it was just this one time where fake-enlightened-me wrote something not true and not nice on Facebook and this person fired back at me, and it was much deserved. This is where the shame comes in.

I sat up in bed and thought "what the fuck am I doing?" I quickly sprang up but could not shake the emotional plague I had brought upon myself. I put the coffee on, took a quick shower, and sat on the floor with the cats, enjoying the one of only a few warm squares of sun light in the house. I have to write this one out.

I've learned so much, and I've come so far, but there's still a lot to do. There's still so much I don't know. "One day at a time" has been on repeat in my head for weeks and weeks and weeks. I physically manifested it by embroidering it onto layered fabric, black cotton on the bottom, covered with a white floral lace I cut from some old drapes I found at Savers. I still struggle with loving my late-teens/early-twenties self and I just have to keep reminding myself that she didn't know what she didn't know, just like right now. She was worthy of love then, even if she was severely misguided, and she is worthy of love now.

I'm so thankful for the mentors I'll never meet, the mentors I no longer need, and the mentors who are yet to be.

Don't forget to check your tonsils for stones.

10:13 a.m. - 2021-03-08


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