December 7th, 2025
Just now I got home from work, and everyone in the house is asleep. It was a weird feeling, there is a peace to it that while sweet, was not what my heart desired today. Sometimes it makes you feel a little lonely and sometimes, after a long shift and walking home from the train station, it's just nice to be reminded that you're loved.
Usually with this feeling striking, I go on my phone, I scroll the numbers in my Messages app until I can find someone to give me validation, to indirectly tell me I matter. I did do that a little, but it's not a good habit, I've known that a long time, so I am writing this now. Will anybody read it? Unlikely. Is that okay? Yes. It's real, it's real for me and to me.
When I walked in the door, one of the first things I did was plug my phone in. It had died near the end of the walk home in the middle of a podcast interview with Bryan Danielson. I love a lot about that guy and what he does. When I plugged in, I noticed my old phone which I'd recently gotten back and set to charge. Opening it out of...curiosity? The desire to hurt myself? Whatever the case may be, opening it unleashed a wave of dread upon me. I saw old messages, and it just reminded me of who I have been.
I have a hard time viewing my past self in the kindest light. I am a decently self critical person, and I know my bad habits. And when I see them in my past self, especially when they still dictate some of my current life, it just fills me with dread. I try very hard to, and typically succeed at, loving myself. I do love myself today, aware of my faults and past, but whenever I see the me from even six months ago, I want to curl up and die. I'm going to try to love my past self.
I tend to see myself as this pathetic mass of insecurities, all jutting out and ruining what could be beautiful. Every day I get stronger because I am aware of it and I am working to be the best person I can, but having my life dictated by my fear of abandonment is so frustrating. I love my past self, I love my fucked up, suicidal self, I love my insecure, taking countless nudes a day self. I love my self who screams in fear and can't talk to anyone or look them in the eye. I don't want to be you, but I understand you, and I love you, and I know I wouldn't be where I am if I didn't learn from you. It's hard to believe these things really, but I will keep trying to.