001
today i woke up, wrote 50 words into a blank document, and lamented how much i hate my own mind sometimes.
ive never really been good at writing things. i write, as i think everyone does in some capacity, but ive always been awful at writing more than a couple sentences, or a single interesting thought i never bother to explore.
im a cohost refugee, of course (sorry). i made an account when it first started and never posted, and then made an account again, when i found out a girl i like used the site. i posted there decently often for a few months, and then the site died and i was back to my baseline again. it drives me crazy to remember.
i get so emotional about art - i have to, after spending twenty years entirely numb i have to extract the most emotion i possibly can - but i don’t know what to do with it. it sits inside me and circles in my head, each time in smaller and smaller loops. i can’t stand it.
i need to do something, anything. i need to express myself. i need a fucking win.
im going to hit the publish button now. let’s hope that it means something to me.
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