this really isn't like me at all

| Steph | 22 | Philly | Med Lab | I like birds, nice smells, small towns and city lights I'm good at makeup and microbiology. - Feminist & Small Scientist -

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Despite the massive amount of snow we’ve gotten in the past 3 weeks, I’ve made it a personal goal to get back in shape. Rather, my roommates have made it their personal goal to get me in shape. Dave is my bootleg personal trainer; we all go running and hiking, then he feeds me ice cream. It evens out. Right? I think so.

  (My view of the nor’easter from my room)

There’s a couple things holding me back from exercising rigorously – I’m very sleepy always, I have mild exercise-induced asthma, and I hate the cold. (I get wheezy during runs, which can escalate to chest tightness and hives. Not fun.) I do a lot better in controlled workout environments, like core-based yoga sessions (which I plan on incorporating once a week as well). But if there’s one thing I haven’t been able to grasp about yoga, it’s the mental aspect. I used to love yoga for its intraspective qualities – I was really able to delve into my brain and zen out. But lately, that’s been an unattainable state; I just can’t meditate anymore. My mind refuses to shut off. It takes a lot of cognitive strength to get there, which I guess I lost somewhere in the past few years. I lost my spirituality, if you will.

But what is spirituality anyway? It’s usually what non-religious people say they are. Modern spirituality seems to be a more self-driven mindset that focuses on ones connection to the universe, whereas traditional spirituality involves the unity of oneself and god. Both are very much a “be the best you you can be and leave everyone else alone” type of deal, which I respect a lot. In my opinion, being spiritual is very healthy. Affiliating yourself with a “higher power,” be it a deity or nature or life itself, takes a lot of weight off your shoulders and lets you focus on what’s really important: you. By being your best you, you’re already improving the world. And that’s all anyone can ever ask of you.

I guess my issue is that I lost faith in everything. Bleak, I know, but life gets more transparent the longer you’ve existed. Purpose is so, so vital to our existence, yet I think we all question ours. Some people pop out tiny humans to feel purpose, some do research on innovative cancer therapy, some dedicate their lives to saving the environment – regardless of what it is, people need to feel like they’re necessary. Or else they get real sad. (Exhibit A: me.) Asking yourself “what’s the point?” can really put a damper on whatever spirituality you’ve worked to achieve. We’re all gonna die and the earth will be engulfed by the sun regardless of whether or not we pack a couple meals for the homeless shelter.

But modern spirituality counters that. Try to live in the moment, right now, and only look forward. (But not too far forward, like when the earth gets engulfed by the sun.) Make this moment better, because we’re all alive in the same moment, living and feeling and experiencing. The universe will throw curveballs and knock you off your feet, and there’s nothing you can do about those things. What you can do is make the experience better for yourself and everyone around you by being a better human being. Be a good listener, be generous, be understanding.

Why does it matter? Because a good life is all anyone can really get out of living. That’s it. That’s really all there is.

Good energy is both contagious and magnetic. Everyone’s heard that. And maybe that’s why in your darkest days, you found yourself surrounded by toxic people. Then once you found the strength to be good to yourself, kind people flocked to you. And you flourished from there. (If you’re not there yet, don’t worry. You will.) Be conscious of the energy you exude. People feel it, whether they’re aware of it or not.

So what does getting buff have to do with being spiritual? A healthy body supports a healthy mind, and vice versa. Yoga is a great strength-building tool because it incorporates both mental and physical vitality. We can’t expect the mind to function properly when the body is suffering, and we can’t expect the body to work its best when the mind is crashing. We often have crazy expectations of our bodies – look this way, work this hard, don’t rest – and then we get upset when we falter. Having a spiritual connection with your own physiology can help you guide yourself to be your strongest. Listen to your body when its hurting or when you feel like you can push yourself further. And if you feel like you need a nap, take a good-ass nap.

So, hopefully the more my roommates force me against my will to be active, the all-around healthier I’ll become. That’s the plan, anyway. I’m already feeling much better. Simply connecting with other humans and feeling like I belong has improved my mental health. Life may have no meaning, but that doesn’t mean it has to be sad and pointless. Wishing you all a good week and lots of good naps.

-s.f.

Getting buff + modern spirituality Despite the massive amount of snow we've gotten in the past 3 weeks, I've made it a personal goal to get back in shape.

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My parents are currently in the process of losing their home. Since they both have rather limiting health conditions, they asked me to help clear out the house. Basically, I shoved room-fulls of belongings into garbage bags. I threw out tons of old drawings, stuffed animals, clothes, art projects, memories – pretty much my entire childhood went into the dumpster today.

The carpet is yucky because there was a hole in my ceiling that led to a carpet beetle infestation and rain and general grossness.

I’ve been preparing for this moment for awhile. Honestly, the house is destroyed and it hasn’t been my home for a long time. It’s still wells up a lot of emotions to think of what it used to be, though. I think about summers, lying by the window and hearing kids playing outside. I think about massive snowfalls in the backyard and running out barefoot with my brother.

Generally, I think it’s better to live with less belongings. All the less to weigh you down when adventuring. Granted, I’m pretty frilly and enjoy clothes and makeup – but I try to pick and choose my belongings carefully and purge whenever I get new things. It keeps me from getting too cluttered. I was stupidly sentimental as a child, though. Everything had meaning. I had so much love in my heart for the people around me and the things they gave me. I had a “memory box” full of old nick-nacks I collected while growing up, but my younger sister destroyed it. Notes from class, doodles and stories with my friends, movie tickets, awards – I salvaged a couple things, but I was trying really hard to let most of it go. I need to remember that the life I’m building now is 1000% better than the life I had as a kid. It’s bitter-sweet.

Maybe there’s a midpoint between holding onto everything and letting everything go. I’m not sure if I’ve found it quite yet. I tend to be an emotionally all-or-nothing type of person. I’m sad my parents are losing the home they raised their kids in. But ultimately, it was their fault for living so recklessly and there was nothing I could do to fix it. I have to let that go, along with all the memories inside that dilapidated house.

I’m thankful to finally feel at home somewhere. My anxiety has leveled off tremendously – I never realized how much it affected me to be around my family’s issues. I’m not constantly worrying about them anymore. I have other things to focus my mind on.

When I came home today, my roommates had this waiting for me.

IT HAS EYES.

It’s the perfect Stoof-sized chair – funnily enough, it really is perfect for when I sit by the windowsill and do my makeup. I don’t know if that’s what they intended it for, but it brought me a lot of joy when I came home from such an emotional day.

I feel at home here. I’m surrounded by people who care about me just enough – not to the point where it’s overwhelming and I implode from being overstimulated. It’s a peaceful feeling that I’m unfamiliar with, but I love it.

I remembered a lot about my past self from going through my old things. I forgot I was valedictorian of my 8th grade class and that I used to have an obsession with penguins an the greek goddess Athena. I think it’s important to remember who you were and where you came from – it makes you all the more proud of who you’ve become. Here’s some things I found around my old room. I’m sad I didn’t take more pictures of what I found, particularly the penguin collection on my shelf. Hope this week treats you all well.

-s.f.

PS – yes, that is the OG snail. Circa 2008.

Throwing my childhood in the garbage My parents are currently in the process of losing their home. Since they both have rather limiting health conditions, they asked me to help clear out the house.

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(featured photo by Tyler Corbley)

This Saturday I single-handedly hauled all my belongings into my tiny Honda Civic and drove off to Manayunk. I don’t have a lot of things – at least not furniture wise. So right now, the room is kind of… barren.

(Yes, that is a little ball of Nova Dog on the bed there.) Also I don’t own a chair.

It took a lot of mental strength to do this, honestly. Things at Mommom’s just started to feel like home. I don’t know what happened, but after my Aunt Lizzie passed, everyone came together. My uncle was always around the house, and even my parents stopped by on the regular. It felt good and safe there. I was being taken care of – I’ve been feeling like an oversensitive child lately.

But I’m 23 and I drive 50+ minutes each way to my job. So when my old roommates said our room was open again, I decided it was probably time for me to be a big girl. Initially, I was excited. I couldn’t wait to get extra sleep and be around friends every day. But Saturday morning, I felt sick to my stomach – probably from misdirected anxiety. I almost threw up a few times and I couldn’t stop myself from shaking. As much as I liked the idea of being independent and closer to work, right then in that moment, all I wanted to do was be surrounded by my family. Maybe this was my way of coping with all the loss in the past few months. I couldn’t stop crying – it was like there was a wad of steel wool in the back of my throat and chest. I wanted to stay right there.

When I finally started to load my car, seeing my old room so bare made me sadder. It just started to feel like home. That was a big deal for me, considering the house I grew up in wasn’t even a home to me. They say that home is a feeling, and they’re right. Hearing small, familiar voices downstairs, laughter between Mommom and my brother, seeing my shitty paintings on the walls and the post-card concoction I made – it’s not the room or the things in it, it’s the feeling the place gives you.

I’m not unhappy with my decision. Not in the least. I gotta say though, being here does bring back memories and makes me miss Tyler more – but I like it here and my friends are wonderful. They took me out to dinner last night, then we came home and watched Blue Planet from BBC. Not only is it incredibly interesting, but it’s a great series to watch while inebriated. It’ll soothe you right to sleep.

Today we went grocery shopping, cooked, and then I took a cuddle-puddle nap with the dogs. (Here’s a fabulous view of Leo’s butt.)

The feelings I’m experiencing right now kind of remind me of my first night in my dorm at Jefferson. But I was so busy the following weeks, I had no time to think about anything else. And before I knew it, my dorm was more my home than anywhere else. I often forget how adaptable I am. Sure, at first I feel every emotion like a ton of bricks to the face, but I’d say I have a pretty malleable soul. My advice for anyone moving into a strange place (or not-so-strange in my case) would be to:

Have a friend help you move, and maybe stay with you the first weekend. It’ll give you a sense of comfort to have someone familiar around and supporting you. (This wasn’t really an option for me – these dogs are my only friends.)

Keep goodbyes brief and light. Dragging things out can make them feel heavier than they really are. A friendly “bye, I’ll be back soon!” makes everyone feel better. Hugs are a must, though.

Bring things that make you feel comfy. I definitely didn’t do this, but I really didn’t have a lot of options since I was moving all my shit myself. Even if it feels stupid, seeing that box of polaroids or poo-emoji pillow might make you feel a lot more at-home when you walk into your new room.

Don’t be too afraid of over-packing. While I’m 100% for living minimalistically, I always do this thing where I under-pack and end up going back for things. Thinking “oh I’ll be fine without this” or “I can come back for this.” You’re better off having everything you need right off the bat.

If you’re the anxious type (particularly at night), anti-anxiety tea does wonders. My personal favorite is Yogi’s honey-lavender Stress Relief tea. Not a big fan of the rest of their teas, but this one is a must-try if you suffer from anxiety. I’ve heard Celeste has good sleepy-time tea too.

Give yourself a routine! Keeping busy is number 1. If you did yoga back home, find a place to do yoga near your new place. Find a gym, find an art store, find a coffee shop to do work in – building a routine will make things feel more like home very quickly.

I miss my brother and Mommom and my space heater (the room here is FREEZING.) But I can always go back. Adulthood is strange – you end up having homes everywhere. And it can split you up a bit – make you feel a little splintered and lost. But that’s all a part of growing, I guess.

Take care of yourselves – and feel free to share your moving experiences in the comments!

-s.f.

Moving back to Manayunk & feeling some type of way (featured photo by Tyler Corbley) This Saturday I single-handedly hauled all my belongings into my tiny Honda Civic and drove off to Manayunk.

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Crashing. (and how to cope with it)

Mental illness is not always constant. There are days, weeks, or months where you could be feeling on top of the world. You’re taking care of yourself, you’re getting things done, the days don’t weigh you down like they used to – momentarily, you feel like a real person. I think that’s one of the scariest parts for people with mental illness; the knowledge that the “real” feeling is only…

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Little Person Problems #1 I'm 23.

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For those of you who’ve been reading my posts, you know that my grandfather (whom I’d been living with) died in September. Well, last week, my aunt (my grandmother’s daughter) died of cancer. (Rather, the intensive therapy they bombarded her with – but that’s another rant on its own.) I saw her in hospice before she died – unlike Chacha. I was sick when he was in the hospital, and I didn’t want to risk getting him sick too. I held my Aunt Lizzie’s hand while she struggled to breathe and complimented my eyebrows. We always talked about makeup and skincare and how much we hated working in healthcare. Everyone said I was just like her; empathetic to the point of it being a downfall. When my brother and I were little, we called her “Crazy Lady.” She would dress up and do comedy skits with us in an absurd “crazy lady” voice. We loved it. We loved being with her. She bought me my first ice skates and took me to lessons. She helped me find a psychiatrist in high school. She broke her back for the people she loved.

I’ve come to accept this fact: the people who raised me are dying and there is nothing I can do about it.

My mother called and told me she passed a few hours after I left the hospice. I didn’t react. I didn’t cry. I felt sad, but it felt numb – death was a part of life and my Aunt Lizzie was terminally ill. I was worried for my mom and grandmother. I finally cried when I was able to process it alone – but it wasn’t a lot. Not like when Chacha died. I felt desensitized.

Weeks prior, right around the holidays, I received news that my dad was in the hospital with congestive heart failure (again) and they were going to lose the house mid-January. That I couldn’t handle. That dragged me deep down back into my depression hole. I just wanted Christmas to be over so I wouldn’t have to think about my parents in their lonely house with no tree and no money, or my grandmother mourning her first Christmas without her husband. I hated it so much. All I could think about was being a child in baby-blue pajamas, hobbling down the stairs with my brother and sister. All I could think of was how happy it made my dad to get us gifts, and how he couldn’t afford a single thing for anyone this year. Nothing was the same and it never would be. And accepting that has been hard.

My aunt’s passing didn’t destroy me. At least not yet.

After I climbed out of my depression-hole, I decided it was time to focus on building myself a new life rather than mourning a past one. I’ve been spending most of my time alone, working out or drawing or concocting art projects. Losing myself in a project has helped me tremendously – and it’s helped remind me who I am. I’m a creator of silly, quirky things, just like my aunt. I always have and I always will be. I’m trying to become strong – both mentally and physically. I’m getting up-to-date on all my health check-ups, I’m starting a hot yoga class, and I’m giving myself daily goals. I want to be able to make decisions for myself, by myself, and to rely less on others for everything. I often forget that it was my own intelligence that got me to where I am today. Your loved ones can guide you – but in the end, you are your own best friend.

It used to bother me when the new year would come around and everyone would post their accomplishments. Why did it bother me? Because I felt insignificant in comparison. What I didn’t take into account was how important it is for you to recognize and celebrate your own personal growth. What’s a few baby-steps for one person is a milestone for another. That doesn’t make your journey any less significant. In 2017, I quit a job that made me miserable and found one that doesn’t make me hate every day (much). I bought a car (in full!), learned phlebotomy, learned ukulele, and started writing songs again. I started making comics – which I apologize for being so slack with – and I paid off all my credit card debt. I started investing in a computerized investment system and have made $60 so far. (Woohoo!) And lastly, my most obscure accomplishment – loving someone else along with myself. I used to feel that was impossible for me – that my heart was only big enough for one, including myself. I thought I wasn’t cut out to be anyone’s partner and that I’d be alone – because I couldn’t stand anyone, or anyone I could stand made me lose myself. And in 2016, I was finally OK with that. Being alone was OK. I understood that not everyone needs to find love to be complete. And I suppose in understanding that, I was able to make room in my heart for whatever came my way. And doing that has brought me more love and happiness than I thought I’d ever get.

  Celebrate your accomplishments, no matter how small. Please feel free to share them with me. Take care of yourselves! Here’s some of the stupid things I’ve diddled.

-s.f.

  Dealing with death, getting myself together For those of you who've been reading my posts, you know that my grandfather (whom I'd been living with) died in September.

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Pay Attention The tree is sad because drawing is stupid.

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Doorbell It happens a lot.

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Brows First Why do we do our brows before anything else?

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Partners?

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Small Snail

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The Snailsclam

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I ordered the Fujifilm Instax Wide 300 the other day – it’s basically a modernized polaroid camera that takes 62x99mm photos. Twice the size of the Instax Mini that everyone knows and loves, but also twice the bulk.

The verdict: I’m very bad.

When I was younger my parents bought my brother and I Samsung digital cameras. I liked photography a lot, but gave up when I realized my brother was infinitely better at it. He’d go on biking trips with our dad and take photos of the scenery while I sat at home and played video games probably.

When Tyler and I lived in Manayunk for the summer, he and I enjoyed taking pictures of the little city. (He’s really great, check out his photos on his blog.) I got him a 50mm lens for his birthday, which was great for closeup focal points (without being a macro lens). My favorite things to take pictures of were glowy lights and flowers (obviously).

The thing about modern cameras is that the newer interfaces and technology make it easier to be a “good photographer.” Please don’t get me wrong – I am not trying to belittle photographers or say that what they do is easy. It’s a lot of tiring work and it’s expensive as hell. But nowadays, it’s just way easier to get a high-quality, good-looking shot. As opposed to these failures:

But that’s kind of the fun part for me, in a weird way. Having to wait for just the right lighting, only having a certain amount of exposures – there’s so much more to think about rather than snapping away at 300 photos or taking photo-bursts. It’s a novelty, I’ll give you that. But it’s teaching me to appreciate and work hard on photography.

This was the only good shot I got from Friday – looks like an Instagram filter,  doesn’t it?

I like how it captures colors in the right light. I like the vintage look, and I like that I have something to hold in my hand after. No, I didn’t exist during the polaroid age – because of that, I’m sure I have a lot more to appreciate and learn.

They do have an Instax Square, which takes slightly smaller pictures but has way more digital features (filters, digital vewfinder, etc) – and part of me is wondering if I should’ve gotten that one. The Instax Wide is BIG. There is no digital interface – just a tiny viewfinder. You can see below how big it is compared to my hand. (Note: I am very small and have very tiny hands.)

When you flip the power switch, the lens opens up and protrudes another few inches out. It isn’t the type of camera you can throw in your purse – like say, I don’t know, your smartphone. But I wouldn’t say it’s so big that it’s a pain in the ass to carry or hold. It does come with a strap, which I’m eternally grateful for. If a 5ft tall human can carry this around, you probably can too.

The camera comes with three options for the lens: 0.9-3m, or 3m to infinity. That’s actually what it says. There’s also a small attachable lens for “selfies” or closeups. I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, so updates will come when I do. My biggest obstacle is using the 0.9-3m function. The viewfinder is very inaccurate in this mode – however, the manual does tell you to compensate for the change in lens by veering more up and left. Still a pain in the booty and I’ve yet to take a successful photo with it.

Is this a camera for professional photographers? No. When I asked my brother “How do I use a Polaroid camera?” he responded, “Throw it in the garbage.” If you’re the kind of person who loves taking photos but wants better quality instant prints, I recommend getting an Instax Printer instead. You attach it to your phone and it prints your photos just like a Polaroid! However, if you’re like me and are looking for a fun novelty challenge to occupy your time, then this might be good for you too.

Polaroid (the brand) does make their own modernized cameras, but the film is absurdly expensive – which is why I opted for Fujifilm. I don’t know if there’s a difference in photo quality, though I will admit the Polaroid camera looks sturdier and less plastic-y than the Fujifilm. That really doesn’t bother me, though, considering the Fujifilm camera itself was only 90$, whereas Polaroid’s are 100$ + 16$ for 8 exposures. Yikes. I got 40 exposures for 30$ on Amazon.

Jenn and I are going to Peddler’s Village later on to do some more adventuring, so hopefully we’ll have more decent photos to share. Hope this was helpful and remotely amusing!

  Take care of yourselves, -s.f.

Polaroid shmolaroid. I ordered the Fujifilm Instax Wide 300 the other day - it's basically a modernized polaroid camera that takes 62x99mm photos.

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Costume Party

  You don’t deserve her.  

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Traveling Snailsman: Adventure Begins

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Traveling Snailsman I was feeling really uncreative and reclusive after my grandfather passed away, but I'm trying really hard to get back into the swing of things. Happy Bloaty Sunday!

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I think a lot of us look back on our past-selves and think, “who was that person?” We go through transitions constantly. We change our minds, we change ourselves, and we change our surroundings. Sometimes, as we change, we get to know ourselves more – and sometimes, we get to know ourselves less. Unfamiliar territories can open up a big can of “who the hell am I,” and “why am I doing this?”

Questioning yourself is the most important part of getting to know you. Lately, I’ve been feeling unfamiliar to myself. I spend so much time cooing patients at work and focusing on other people, by the time I sit down and look in the mirror, I’m thinking –

“who dat.” I look back on pictures of myself and see a lost community college student tied with ribbons, a strung-out red-head on the brink of her bachelor’s, and the manic pink-haired aftermath of working hard and amounting to not much at all. When we think of our past selves as different entities, we tend to compartmentalize our growth. “Ah, my emo phase.” “Oh yes, my hypersexual phase.” Those past selves tend to not feel like us anymore. But they are, and parts of them are still you. Because that’s how growing up works. Maybe you went through a time where life felt purposeless, and wearing all black and cutting your hair atrociously made you feel like you belonged. Maybe you went through a time when you were broken, so you hooked up with people you didn’t really like to feel wanted. That wasn’t emo-you or slut-you. That was you, going through something hard. And the more you try to dissociate those you’s from you, the less you you’ll be. (Did that make sense?)

For me personally, I tried to dissociate my past selves because I hated them. I was grossly misled as a child and developed a lot of problematic opinions and views. I was zapped of my strength and independence by a power-hungry patriarchy. And worse, I was so morbidly depressed that I hurt people. I didn’t like that me, because that me was weak, harmful, and foolish. But don’t we all start that way? Weak, malleable, and impressionable? Past-selves aren’t inherently bad; their mistakes are what teach us who our present-selves have become. By cutting off the past-you’s that were hazardously flawed, you end up with a present-you who has no idea who they are or how they got there. That’s when we lose ourselves.

Ask yourself questions. When you start feeling unfamiliar to yourself, ask what qualities are “you.” If you have trouble with that, try asking a close friend what characteristics they feel are quintessentially you. Your core qualities. Try and focus on the good ones, though – I find that the first word people think of for me is “anxious,” which isn’t necessarily what I want to strive for. I feel my core qualities are: a little sassy, childlike, empathetic, excitable, determined, very silly, and thoughtful. Once you figure out what qualities are the most you, you’ll be able to tell when you deviate from them. Which can help you get back to feeling like yourself again. When I was in school, I worked my ass off – I studied all night, put my heart and soul into my projects, and genuinely enjoyed learning. I was 900% determined to prove that I was intelligent and that I could be something great. Even as a kid, I felt so driven to achieve and to change the world around me. I fought what I felt wasn’t right, particularly boys who were incidentally sexist.  I have most definitely fallen out of that tree, because lately all I want to do is sleep and roll in my own self-pity. That core-Steph quality is something I’m losing, and being aware of that is the first step towards getting it back.

This brings me to another issue – what do you do if you feel the most “you” when you’re in a bad place?

I think this is more common with people who struggled with ED’s, mental illnesses, or some other trauma during adolescence. Sometimes, we turn our bad places into our comfort zone. If we associate our illness as one of our core qualities, it feels like we are our depression or our anorexia or our PTSD. We forget that we’re people and that we are capable of happiness (you are, I promise). Like I mentioned before – people say “anxious” as the first answer when I ask them what they think of me. (Then comes small, weird, and loves microbes.) While I do get that, it’s important for me to separate myself from my anxiety. Anxiety is something I have, not something I am. Tell yourself that – insert whatever you’re struggling with and tell yourself that every day you have to deal with that something.

There were, and still are, times in my life where I relapse back into those bad places. And you know what? I feel comfortable there. Because I was there for a very, very long time. I felt comfortable damaging my body because that’s the way I was when I trudged through adolescence. I’ve recently had several bouts of panic attacks – those crippling ones where you shake and hyperventilate and claw at your skin. It’s an out of control feeling, like your hands have no choice but to try and pull you out of your skin – but it was so deeply ingrained in what I thought was “me,” it almost felt satisfying. That feeling of “ah, there I am. I remember this me.” Feeling like this is harmful for many reasons. a) You are not what ails you. b) Just because something feels “comfortable” doesn’t mean it’s good for you. c) What did I just say about compartmentalizing your past selves? Happiness is fleeting, and I think that might be another reason these bad places can become so comfortable. Society teaches us to view happiness as an end-goal. For a lot of us, we feel that’s just not going to happen if we don’t have (what society says) will make us happy. So we burrow into our depression-holes and bad habits and call it a life. I think we all know deep-down that happiness is a transient little elf that sprinkles us with sunshine-dust from time to time, and treasuring those moments is what makes us happy as people. (Being happy and feeling happy are two totally different things.) If you’re feeling too comfortable in your sadness, you need to make it a point to get the heck out. Cognitively and physically. Anywhere, doing anything that makes you feel something. And when you come home to just you, give yourself something else to look forward too. A show, a bubble bath, a phone-call to grandma, a fluffy dog – as long as you’re keeping your brain active and your plans positive, that depression-hole should start seeming less and less appealing. And I promise you’ll start liking this healthy you way better.

Maybe there was a time when a past you was fighting something hard to become the present you, and maybe that past self did some harmful, ignorant, and hurtful things – but all those sloppy, reckless past-selves made this you. And you should be proud of you – all of you, as a whole.

  One time, upon hearing my story, someone told me “Wow, you’re like a flower in the concrete.” He turned out to be a dickhead, but that stuck with me.

  Be good to your selves, -s.f.

  Past-selves & getting to know you. I think a lot of us look back on our past-selves and think, "who was that person?"