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What do I even . . .
Jun. 16th, 2020 05:33 pm. . . have to hide from a largely anonymous online journal? Indeed if it is a journal, one can wonder, anything on the internet is far more permanent than if I were to physically write my thoughts down , but the point of journals is for no one to see them. In this forum it's more of a cheap craving for connection than a helpful excercise in mental health.
Regardless, I am in a place where the opportunity for an outlet, even a small, smaller than a mouse sized hole, is enough to ignite in me a wealth of self-doubting, self-serving, drivel, which is to say, I can't help myself.
I wish I hadn't stayed in Hull. Wish I would have gotten out like my sisters had. Our mum passed 9 or so years ago, the other half of the bio equation many years before that, I never wanted to go to London or whereever, i wanted to stay here, like it meant something. What memories I have are unraveling quickly. And the city is rotting around the edges. Then, I feel like I am as well. I really ought to speak to someone. A professional sort that can simper and nod and validate and check off boxes. Oh, but you're never too old, one may say, of course not, change is possible, the brain is infinitly plastic . . .
Perhaps it's these times of unrest and petulance and plague that have driven my usually under wraps fears to the forefront. I don't know. I'm too scared to go out of doors. 2nd wave of the virus, ruffians on the streets, whatever, I am holed away. But I've got this, eh?
Perhaps will post more fics . . .
Regardless, I am in a place where the opportunity for an outlet, even a small, smaller than a mouse sized hole, is enough to ignite in me a wealth of self-doubting, self-serving, drivel, which is to say, I can't help myself.
I wish I hadn't stayed in Hull. Wish I would have gotten out like my sisters had. Our mum passed 9 or so years ago, the other half of the bio equation many years before that, I never wanted to go to London or whereever, i wanted to stay here, like it meant something. What memories I have are unraveling quickly. And the city is rotting around the edges. Then, I feel like I am as well. I really ought to speak to someone. A professional sort that can simper and nod and validate and check off boxes. Oh, but you're never too old, one may say, of course not, change is possible, the brain is infinitly plastic . . .
Perhaps it's these times of unrest and petulance and plague that have driven my usually under wraps fears to the forefront. I don't know. I'm too scared to go out of doors. 2nd wave of the virus, ruffians on the streets, whatever, I am holed away. But I've got this, eh?
Perhaps will post more fics . . .
