Hey Diary, been a bit, maybe a month?
I’m sorry I don’t write poems much anymore, maybe that’s what I need but honestly right now you kinda feel like my only friend, as so often the case is I’m just burnt, closing up, the usual, you’re my confidant and that makes you special, because I know even if it’s stupid to make all of this public and out there at the very least it means I never really closed everyone off, it was always available to be seen or felt. I can’t wait for therapy because right now I feel so alone, when I feel alone I start getting mean and I regress into who I used to be not who I am working towards, I know that as people we all have similar feelings, struggles, the like but lately I just feel so distant, some of it’s me, some of it’s others, All my dreams are gonna come true yet I still feel restless, like, what comes after stability?

I know I have to look inward, somehow someway I lost that spark that was really pushing me, that fuck the world, fuck them, I can do this spirit, even as I write this I can feel it, always, I want to keep pushing I have to, I know that I can do this, maybe everything will be okay, maybe it won’t but I have to keep going, I don’t need to beat them, I just need to beat me, I just need to stop letting fear control me.

Isn’t there something cosmically funny about being told that you’re “perfect for therapy” like, I get that I can explain my mechanisms well and I try to be self analyzing and stuff but, it felt kinda mean! Maaaaybe I’m over sensitive or whatever but still it’s so strange, I can’t wait to go back in, a new professional, this time working towards ironing out all the misery and god knows what patterns I have. Man, it’s no wonder I idealize dolls, they generally don’t have to contend with self destruction, least I think so.

Thanks Diary, having someone to talk to helps, you don’t get weird on me, or tell weird ass lies to make yourself an arbiter, you don’t detach, you’re liiiike a plushie. I’ve often wondered how stuffed animals feel, being punched, squeezed, cried on, washed, do they view it as love? abuse? I suppose it’s a very good thing that plushies do not have thoughts! Oh the potential ways a plushie might view ones owner, it’d make the devil worry.

Frankly this all had been eating me alive, yesterday, last night, this morning, I should make you a better habit, an extremely better habit. While I’m here I must admit I’ve been doing an experiment and frankly the results are disappointing, by keeping good news and progress to myself unless specifically asked I’ve cut off the dopamine of others’ reactions however, I think I’ve determined I have little reward systems of my own, I wonder if previous nicotine abuse contributed to this, or perhaps something deeper, a lack of pride? Lack of belief? I should dissect this, work towards fixing it, imagine how fucking unstoppable I’d be if the dopamine from others wasn’t required, I always wanted to shut up like a telescope about my own life and this could be the key, pride in ones own life would create a person who had little desire to speak of ones own journey and accomplishments, secrets would all be mine, oh I’m gushing just thinking about it Diary, I think that will do for today, I’m actually kinda chipper now! Also I totally integrated the dumb bitch dialect well at this point, donchas, kindas, lotsa….HA ACCIDENT, I should probably see which way I’d like it to go, it’d be very fun if I learned some morbid words to splice into my daily vocab, imagine if every time I felt bad I was all “oh I’m so morose” “oh my heart is in agony” goth bimbo hour 100%.
Goodbye Diary, I’ll see you again soon, hopefully!