15 minutes
new therapist dude who i only saw once [because fuck insurance] told me to start journaling for 15 minutes a day. nowadays this shit is hard. i’m glad i came back to this secret not so secret tumblr. i just spent the past hour looking back on all the shit i posted here. it was a fuckton to take in and analyze. but i’m glad it’s here. actually is there a better word for glad in this case? it’s hard to read over some of them. partiallly the reason i have a hard time looking in the mirror sometimes. that this was all me. my life experience. who i was/am. nonetheless i guess i’m grateful i still have my tumblrs. i think i used to have another tumblr called mumblr. but i deleted that i think. it’s so fascinating to look back at some of my writing styles from back in the day. some of the stuff i read back stings a little inside because i know a lot [better?] now. about myself. and what a selfish person i grew up to be. i use projection a lot i’ve noticed. i used that a lot. i shouldnt even be using it in past tense since i still tend to project but at least i’m getting better at acknowledging it. 15 minutes. ive got 10 left. 6 weeks without weed today. i’m not sure if i’ve seen any improvement aside from feeling shit more. it’s funny how a few days ago i said i’d rather feel again than feel nothing at all. then the train dragged me to hell yesterday. the story gets better the more i tell people. but if i think about it on my own too much it gets too cringy. and i think what the fuck is wrong with you you dumb ass bitch like who the fuck are you doing nothing with your fucking life except working a train that goes loop de loop around the mall. but the minute i tell people that i screamed SHIT in front of a dad and his daughter i just gotta laugh along with the person i tell the story to. i really need to give up sugar and start exercising. i feel the same 6 weeks sober because i’m not doing anything differently. but i’m definitely not going out anymore. i’m a different person every year. 2 years ago i barely left the house. last year/this past year i went out all the fucking time. and ive reverted back to sheltering myself. subconsciously keepnig my room a fucking pig sty so that nobody can visit. and ive developed a new coping mechanism for stress...age regression. after the train dragged me to hell, i wanted to smoke so bad to make the mortifying panic leave my fucking body. it sucks when your weed guy is your roommate. but right as i was standing outside their door, hank my good old mormon ex stoner buddy texted me. he used to smoke more than me but he hasnt smoked in a hot minute which has been really motivational. this is the longest i think ive gone without smoking weed in a very long time. am i going to be sober for the rest of my life? am i done with mary jane? the world may never know. it’s been a love hate relationship with her. no matter what, i always smoke “too much.” even when i know it wont end well...im addicted to that feeling. what a time to be alive. this one tumblr post from this particular blog freaked me the hell out. i was super aware of myself in 2011. but i wasnt very open to getting a therapist back then. back then it was studying psychology in college instead. to figure out my family originally. but wow. who knew. that this would be it. am i going to make it out of the 27 club?
