There are only so many words that can come to mind at this point in my life. But only temporarily, that’s my anti-strife. I am compelled to exorcise the demons that once again prevent me from sleeping, the unfulfilled fears, the non-regulated negative fantasies that I hold with all my heart. For the last few months I’ve been tapering myself, from my sisters and my brothers. I have been keeping my cloudy mind locked away from others. Perhaps I view it as mercy, out of fear I’ll never recover. Every time this phase comes I’m reminded of the fact that I am sick. My mind plays tv static interspersed with the imagery of me being a dick. Perhaps it’s idolatry, an ego lacking euthanize. But I am compelled to prod my very being regularly with a stick. When I was growing up I was given a story my family would capitalize, about a girl who never was happy with herself, an image that never would crystalize. Spending hundreds and thousands on surgery scar after surgery scar, never seeing the beauty in the flaws of the natural art. Fear-mongering as it was I think I claimed a clear ideal well, everything has limits, checksum your ideals well. Have a capacity for the person you want to be, rationalize it with notions of what you’ve seen. Frankly I’m starting to like myself well, which means I’m starting to see what I really could dispel, a bit of fat from some gym-work and house-cook. Some unpleasant hair that makes me feel like a space-wook. Add a bit of heft to my front-load, slight aesthetical improvements that I desire feels like easy homework. I know I’m continuing my studies and this new life I’ve been given has so much room for new or improved buddies. New makeup tips, new hangout spots, new habits to engorge, new styles out, new clothing shops, new risks I can adore. My arts getting better because I can’t stop killing fear, from tracing to reffing to letting my mind travel without steer. I know now I have to do the hardest things alone, but when I’m clear I will not veer my self-image onto a throne. I love you.