I came across this line, my own writing, from a couple years ago. Writing that I kept private, for fear of shame, guilt, permission. Maybe even actualization.
I look at these words now, from my then-future self, and realize how important it was for me to make the observation. To write those words. Then. Now. Every day.
….
“
I’ve gotten really good at being depressed.
I woke up this morning in an all-too familiar state: a blanket heavy with regrets weighing over me, the endless tail-chase of what I could have said and what would have been, playing on repeat in my mind.
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